Deadly In Every Way
by dustyroses
Summary: She intrigued him as much as Sookie did. She didn't like playing damsel in distress. She questioned authority. His authority. And yet he knew they needed each other completely. There was just nothing left of the rest. Eric/Hermione. AU. HP/TB x-over.
1. Prologue

**Prologue  
****September 9, 2004**

A pale figure sat with only a flickering candle for company. His head hung limply as though it was a loosely hinged door. His long, slender fingers were curled into a fist and he gripped a rosary, strings of beads wrapped tightly around his wrist. The solitary candle barely illuminated the angles of his whitened Nordic features, and plunged the rest of the room in darkness. Locks of blond shielded his eyes and he kept his face towards the dusty ground.

For hours he remained like this, still as a statue. If one did not know any better, one would have simply assumed he was dead. The breaths he took were barely distinguishable. The only thing that broke such silence was the sounds of steady dripping.

_"I thought vampires shrivel at the mere sight of crucifixes."_

_"Ancient legend that has no basis in fact, my love. Here I thought you read widely."_

_"Oh don't give me that! You know there's absolute nothing set in stone about your kind. So what about holy water?"_

_"Nothing gets by you, does it? Well, aside from its irritating quality, it does not harm me. And before you ask, garlic only makes me sneeze."_

There was not a single window, and the room was uncomfortably stuffy. Beads of sweat trickled, muscles tightened, but still he made no movement. Not for a few more hours.

So much to remember. So much to forget.

Too much too soon. In a moment, everything changed so drastically. So quickly. That last night they shared. It was hardly enough.

Drip, drip, drip.

_"I believe you have a heart, no matter what you say. You _care_. Stop trying to tell me otherwise."_

A plain wooden door was the only connection he had to the outside world, and he liked it. Nothing of the outside world interested him then; he had lost too much to it already. For the first time in a long time, he felt exhausted. It had been too long since he had felt anything like this. Genuine pain. Loss. Despair.

_"...you have a heart..."_

"Stop," he murmured to himself. "Just stop."

The separation of time and space lingered. No clocks, though. Not in that little sanctuary. It made it seem like time was not moving beyond him. It was therapeutic. Almost.

"_Save me. Wherever you are, Eric, I need you."_

He had heard her. Felt her in the deepest crevices of his being. Yet, time was there; their worst enemy. The foulest trickster. He cheated them both.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to the void, desperate to fill it. "Forgive me. I-"

The door opened abruptly.

"Eric."

"Pam."

"The night won't last forever. Guests have begun to arrive. Get ready."

"Fangtasia can survive one night of my absence. Leave me be."

"Well, I will not! You cannot still be thinking about her. She was human. She made a choice. There was nothing you could have done. You are not accountable. Stop it now. Was she even-"

"I suggest you speak with caution, child. It is not wise to drive me to anger when I mourn."

_Mourn._ What a thing to say. In addition, admitting to it was surprisingly easy.

_"I suppose you're right, but I think I've lost my heart to you."_

_"Yeah, right. You are too cliché! It's nearly disgusting."_

_"I have lived far longer than you have, Hermione, remember that. Things that are clichés now weren't so during my youth. Besides, overused or not...I was not lying."_

He missed her blithe chatter. The effervescence in her character. Her intelligence. Even something as trivial as the smell of her apple-scented shampoo.

"Eric, please..."

"Go, Pam."

"I have never seen you in this state before and honestly, it is beginning to scare me. Please pull yourself together. You need a... distraction, if you will. At least observe if you do not want to entertain the perverse humans. I say this for your own good, Eric. You need this."

He didn't. He just needed to know she was all right.

_"Eric, you know I have to do this. And why. Do us both a favour and stop worrying."_

_"How can you expect me to when you are about to risk your life? I will be dead before I see that happen."_

_"Well, then I guess that settles it. Seeing as you _are_ technically dead-"_

_"Do _not _twist my words against me. You are no stupid, immature child. I think what you are attempting is irrational. Suicidal. And what is worth, without purpose. You do not have to do this and here you are acting like a martyr. We could always find someone else to take your place."_

_"You're the one being irrational here. I'm not a child, you are right. I am fully capable of deciding things for myself, and you have no business stopping me. Let me go."_

He could not. She left anyway.

And there Pam stood at the doorway, waiting for a response - a grunt, a jerk in his arm, anything.

"Fine. If it will please you, I will go...but not right now. I have to clean up."

It was then that he raised his face and revealed the streams of blood that poured from his tear ducts.

* * *

**A/N:** A little experiment. I have no idea if it will work or not, but here you go.

The timeline isn't screwed up - for any of those who aren't aware that the HP books are set in the 90s.

_True Blood_ belongs to Charlaine Harris. _Harry Potter_ belongs to J. K. Rowling.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One  
July 2, 2003**

"Oh damn."

Hermione Granger was lost. Not only that, the air-conditioning in her rented car was not working and there was no breeze that humid day in Louisiana.

She had no idea how she could have even lost her way to begin with seeing as all she did was follow the single straight road which could only lead to one place from the airport – Bon Temps. Well, after driving for over an hour with no sign of any town whatsoever, it was understandable that she had begun to worry a little. And she had also become irritable. Immensely so. Not that Hermione really had any room to complain. She got herself into this predicament in the first place by agreeing to help the Ministry of Magic research vampires.

Exactly what she had been thinking when she volunteered for it was beyond her at that point. Not merely because of something as petty as a broken, overheated car and lack of feasible directions even, but because these were _vampires_. These were the creatures that had evaded Ministry inspection for the longest time – they weren't even documented in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, although if they were, they would definitely be given a five-X rating in an instant. Even the Dark Lord had been too terrified to ask for their assistance. Their secrecy made studying and understanding them incredibly difficult, and besides some freak accidents, most of them had been left alone until a recent turn of events that shocked the world: vampires were beginning to 'come out of the coffin', meaning they were beginning to make themselves known and not just to anybody. To _Muggles_.

Muggles indeed! As if the wizarding community didn't find them a strange, enigmatic sort to begin with, vampires had to risk the magical peoples as a whole by revealing themselves. They 'want to be part of mainstream society', claimed Nan Flanagan, leader of the American Vampire League. So they were perfecting synthetic blood. So they have decided to stop killing humans – or so they say. No guarantee a rogue vampire didn't exist of course. Regardless, the fact was, they're still a danger to living creatures – magic or Muggle. It was simply their nature to be bloodthirsty. Despite the fact that Hermione was always very supportive of giving overlooked races a chance to have a voice, she was not so excited to interview someone who was sheet-white, blood-sucking and who just so happened to be undead. While admitting to a morbid fascination with all things, be it gruesome or appealing, she was always a girl who did her research secondarily. Books were her comfort zone; they kept her safe. First-hand investigations? Those were completely out of her league, especially when it came to delving into the dark and the dangerous. She had had enough of that in her life thanks to battles with Dark wizards, the search for Horcruxes, watching her loved ones perish before her eyes and having to deal with being a teenager all at the same time. Hermione was just relieved that she got out of that sticky web relatively unscathed. There were a few bumps and bruises she'll always be able to feel, though.

She was no longer in contact with Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter – the Golden Boy, the Revered, the boy who had once been one of her closest, best friends – had been murdered five years prior. While there are stories depicting the strengthening of relationships after the loss of a loved one, things were never the same again after the murder. After the funeral, there was nothing but tension. Nobody could look at each other properly without the guilt setting in, hurting too much. Arguments became more frequent. Conflicted feelings as well as feelings of betrayal followed. Half the time, Hermione would have to put up with Ron's nonsensical yelling. Tears and complaints and insults and jeers. All of it was aimed at her. Ginny, who had been Harry's girlfriend, then begun spending nights at Hermione's apartment and they both wept their losses over pints of cookie dough ice-cream and Firewhisky. Photographs were burnt, and so were the bridges. Neither wished to rebuild that connection either.

Both Ron and Hermione held Ministry positions however they tried their best to avoid incidental meetings. They worked around it well enough, and at least Hermione's relations with the rest of the Weasley clan were not affected. Well, she could no longer attend family dinners and be expected to be welcomed with open arms, but she still saw Ginny at least once a week, and visited Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes whenever she was in Diagon Alley. That was not to say she did not miss Ron. Nevertheless, she understood that he would always be too arrogant to accept her apologies, even if it was never her fault. His expectation of her to act contrite had finally caused her to give up on him.

That was probably part of the reason she was so keen to leave the country anyway. For the better part of five years, Hermione had suffered to an extent that had been worse than that of her school days and perhaps she thought that if she was on foreign ground in a whole other continent, the pain would somehow diminish ever so slightly. Only time would tell, she supposed.

_Finally,_ she thought as she drove past a faded billboard that read 'WELCOME TO BON TEMPS'. The washed out yellow lettering on navy blue did nothing to brighten her mood, but at least she found the place.

Supposedly, New Orleans was _the_ Mecca for vampires however there have been reports of fresh vampire activity close to Bon Temps. That made Shacklebolt curious, thus Hermione's detour to the sleepy town. It was a hundred and eighty degree change from the dreary London that she was accustomed to. All the buildings were low and most were shop houses, with a seemingly stereotypical country-and-western ring to them. Plaid shirts were even a staple within the community, and the air constantly smelled divinely of Sunday brunch. The Ministry had put Hermione up at the one apartment complex in the entire town – they were cheaper to rent in the long run when compared to hotels. What Hermione couldn't get used to was the fact that everyone who wasn't in a plaid shirt and jeans, especially young women, walked around in the tiniest shorts with barely any tops on. Although the weather truly left one feeling too clammy for comfort, there was no reason for anyone to go streaking around town, in her opinion. All the same, wrapped up in a woollen shirt and thick jeans, Hermione was certainly overdressed and boiling.

"Merlin be damned if there isn't air-conditioning here too," she muttered to herself as she made to park the beat-up Camaro she was provided when she noticed squad cars circling the block of apartments.

"What the hell?"

She took her time, slowing down and inquisitively winding down the windows.

"...absolutely nothing on her that could indicate how she died. Not a mark. She looked like she'd been scared to death! Poor Dani, gone at twenty-two. And her baby... Imagine tellin' this to her folks, Langston. Coroner's got a lot on his plate now. Gotta explain everythin'. He's lucky he..."

_Definitely magic_, Hermione thought to herself. She _had_ to interfere now – hardly anybody that young died without a scratch on them.

"Excuse me, sir," she called out as the Camaro slowed to a stop in front of the duo. "What's going on here?"

"Little missy, you shouldn't be here," one of them said. "You a tenant?"

"I was supposed to be."

"Well, then you best find another place to stay 'cuz this here complex has become a crime scene. It might stay that way for awhile."

_Oh sure, pretend I didn't see the crime scene tape. I'm not blind._ Hermione swallowed her pride and purposely let her jaw drop, feigning surprise. "What happened? Did someone...die?"

According to Shacklebolt, crime rates in Bon Temps were so low they were practically non-existent. Even the faintest whisper of something as serious as a murder was big news, and the cogs in her brain were already working at lightning speed. Ever since 'outed' vampires were sighted in the area, smudges had begun to appear on Bon Temps' clean record. No doubt this was another one of those 'freak accidents'.

One of the policemen began to reply, when the other cut him off. "What's your name? And your business in Bon Temps, if you don't mind me asking."

"Hermione Granger. I've just moved here," she shrugged, gesturing to her luggage in the back of her car.

"Well, Miss Granger, I'm Sheriff Dearborne. Welcome to our town, although I have some advice for you. Best not be so nosy. Bad things have been happening in these parts for a long time. Weird-as-hell things. Ever since those blood-sucking mercenaries came out of the fuckin' coffin, we've been getting all sorts of strange-as-hell crimes... And all this bullshit is costing us. You _are_ aware of the whole vampire emergence thing, aren't you? It's all over the news-"

"Why yes, I am," Hermione interrupted, the feminist within her screaming in annoyance at Dearborne for speaking to her as if she had no business knowing anything. As much as he wanted to think her a simpleton, she would prove him wrong. That was just a habit she would never kick. "And if I may be so bold, you seem to be against the vampires' coming out."

"And you're _for_ it? You support them, do you?"

"I didn't say that. I'm merely stating a fact that you are being discriminatory about a...race of existence I assume you barely know about, sir. I hope you don't take that comment personally either, Sheriff – it's just an observation."

"And why shouldn't I be a little more cautious? You ought to be too, little missy. They tend to like women as statistics have shown."

"Is that so? So a woman died in the apartment too? Is that what you're saying?"

Hermione was getting tired of being called – in her opinion – frankly derogatory pet names and her nerves were beginning to show as much as Dearborne's.

"Now, you listen here," Dearborne suddenly got serious. "Don't go pokin' your nose in things that ain't supposed to be meddled with, got that? I'm not tellin' you what went down in that complex and it ain't your business snoopin' about. I just want you to be a little more careful is all. You're new in town and you don't sound local so I'll let you off, but frankly, this is the worst time to be movin' in. That may sound a tad cynical and bad for tourism and all that crap, but this town's never been the same since those freak shows turned up. That is a fact."

"I would assume vampires were always around – it's just they never could show themselves for fear of being persecuted," Hermione replied coldly. It was no real intention of hers to side with the vampires and yet she felt obliged to. It was exactly how she felt about S.P.E.W. oddly enough.

"They're _dead_, miss. And we're their favourite midnight snack. They damn right are persecuted for killin' us all."

"Well, they've got synthetic blood now, don't they? They'll be able to live off that and we should all try to stop worrying at least, _and_ stop blaming them for everything. We don't even know how that girl died-"

"Young lady, you don't know what you're talking about," the officer – whose name tag read 'Langston' – standing next to Dearborne cut in. "Just run along now. Sheriff's already said – don't meddle. It's none of your business."

Hermione had to suppress the enormous urge to roll her eyes. She wasn't like she didn't know it was wrong of her to be rude to civil servicemen. It was that she had remained unimpressed with the notion of the establishment since the days of the Great War when dealings with the Ministry of Magic were very questionable.

"Well beg your pardon for being curious I suppose," she muttered, gripping her steering wheel tightly. "Although just so you know, vampires are sort of the reason I decided to even come here in the first place."

Officer Langston's visage changed from a red flush from the sun to something close to a sickly sea foam green colour.

"Sweet Jesus, she's a fangbanger."

Hermione only pretended to know the meaning of that phrase.

"Here you go again, making your assumptions. Well, I won't keep you any longer, I'm sure you're both very busy. I'll see you around, officers. Good luck with the case," she sighed, rolling her windows back up again.

As she drove off, Hermione spied them through her rear-view mirror. Both were glancing nervously at one another, looking utterly uncomfortable. Whatever this 'fangbanger' business was, it was either obscene or dangerous or both. Hermione made a mental note to herself to send Shacklebolt a Patronus asking for a list words used in Southern colloquial speech.

Just then, she noticed two coroners emerged from the front doors of the apartment complex, wheeling out a large black body bag. Hermione's expression darkened at the sight of it and she gulped.

There was the confirmation of her misgivings. Someone _had_ been murdered. Well, she reasoned, they could have committed suicide. Who really knew if they had lost their job or if they had been depressed for the longest time... _No_, she thought. Who was she trying to fool anyway? She had, after all, caught a little of the officers' conversation. 'Absolutely nothing on her that could indicate how she died'? 'Not a mark'? No Muggle could have done that. It was supernatural; one-hundred percent. There was of course no real substantiation that vampires were behind this, but given Bon Temps' recent track record, Hermione could very nearly bet there was some kind of connection.

It was late afternoon and the sky was stained blood red. The irony was nauseating at best.

* * *

"_How_ could you have let this happen?"

"Excuse me?"

"You let her go, Ginny!"

"It's only because of you anyway! If you weren't such a big, inconsiderate prat, she wouldn't have left!"

"Stay out of my business. You shouldn't have let her go. These are _vampires_! What the fuck was Shacklebolt even thinking?"

"Hermione said it was _her_ choice. She volunteered. It's amazing what lengths she'd go to avoid _you_."

"Ginny, you're my sister but I won't hesitate to hit you if you say that to me again."

"So go ahead. Ron, face it. She's gone and really, nobody knows what'll happen to her now. But don't you dare accuse me of not caring about her! If I didn't know she could take care of herself, I wouldn't have condoned it, you _know_ that!"

"I'm not saying she's dim-witted, I'm just saying that these are vampires! Even bookworms like her know nothing about them!"

"Hence, the mission apparently," Ginny rolled her eyes at her brother who was possibly shaking with fury. Ron was so scarlet in the face that there was no hairline separating his face from his fire-coloured locks. They stood staring at each other for the longest time, seemingly choosing their words as carefully as possible, before retreating to opposite ends of the Burrow's living room. The silence stretched, but there was no void.

"I'm going after her," Ron spoke up after several minutes.

"What? Ron-"

"You can't stop me," he stated. "We might have been fighting for awhile, but I promised Harry I'd look after her, Gin. I just know I'll break that promise if I stay here and do nothing. And no, _you_ are not coming with me."

"Don't make me hit you, Ron."

"You're my sister! I'm not risking your life with these...demons!"

"And you're my brother. We're loggerheads, but we're family. If you're going, I'm going. Besides, you'll need someone with brains with you."

"Shut it. At this rate, you might as well ask Mum and Dad to come with us! And George and Bill and Charlie-"

"Oh stop it. You know that isn't the point!" Ginny seethed. "You know that you're going to need my help. Or have you forgotten how good I am at hexing? I'd be more than happy to demonstrate."

Ron opened his mouth to argue however eventually, he closed it again. As much as he hated to admit it, his sister was right. Her combative skills outmatched his own. What's more, he had no more authority than their mother to make her stay. She was well over-age and perfectly legal. She also had a good head that was screwed on tight – she had more willpower than he ever had.

He sighed. "Fine. Do you know where Shacklebolt sent her to?"

"She told me she was going to New Orleans."

"Why there?"

"Apparently, that's where vampires like to congregate. Anyway, that isn't really important. Just go pack. We're leaving as soon as possible."

* * *

**A/N:** Do tell me what you think because this story fully relies on feedback. I'm still a bit sketchy with it because it's such an unusual pairing!

And also, as much as I would like to update as frequently as I can - something I will still try to do regardless of anything - I have school that keeps me busy most of the time too, so I ask all my readers now to be as patient as they can with me. You guys are a lovely bunch, and I would hate to lose readers, but I also ask that people try to understand that it is hard to keep up when I have other obligations that frankly overshadow fanfiction writing! Thank you.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

_Minister,  
__Unexpected circumstances have unduly interrupted my plans. I suspect someone has died in the apartment complex I was supposed to live in but_

Hermione's quill paused for a moment, blotting the parchment underneath. She realised she had no idea how she was going to post her letter to Shacklebolt to begin with. Her usually shrewd mind was warped and fuzzy with jetlag. She highly doubted Bon Temps even had Owl Post. Patronus was always an option of communication, but it still took plenty of time for it to travel and she needed direct answers very quickly, if not she was stuck with nothing to do. As much as the wizarding world had improved since Lord Voldemort's demise, nobody had yet adapted to using Muggle contraptions like the telephone to contact one another, let alone a mobile for on-the-go purposes. That was not to say that it was not a suggested idea. In fact, it was one of, at the moment, forty proposals Hermione had dumped on Lavender Brown's management desk and well, Lavender had never been a very efficient worker, be it as a Hogwarts student or now at the Ministry. It would probably take a few more months at least before the notion of the telephone got to the Ministry's top offices for approval.

So now what was she supposed to do? Finding new accommodation would seem like the wisest thing, but Hermione simply knew not where to start looking. She had no clue of the area she was in, and it seemed as though everybody had already begun to judge her with the way civilians were staring suspiciously into her car windows where she was parked. Her thick winter clothes did nothing to disguise that she was a foreigner and neither did her pale skin. Additionally of course, the rather random action to park one's car to write a letter was not very acceptable to those who enjoyed their regulated, mundane country lives. As opposed to the stupidity of conformity as Hermione was, she knew she would get nothing out of the locals if she did not at least try to blend in with them.

Getting out of the car, she self-consciously straightened her sweater and tried to push her ever unruly hair out of her face. Presentation was key, but the Louisiana heat had begun to make her hair frizz and it was looking much worse than it normally did. Humidity hung in the air with a vengeance and as Hermione started walking down the street, hoping to Merlin that there was a place with air-conditioning she could rest at until she got her bearings, she decidedly looked desperate for help. She was prideful, but not stupid.

"'scuse me, honey, you all right?" a bone-thin redhead on her front porch called out. "You look more lost than a chicken without its head."

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I think I really am," Hermione replied sheepishly.

"D'you know where you're headed?" the redhead asked kindly. "I've been livin' in this town for well over ten years; I could try to give you a hand. I'm Arlene, by the way. Arlene Fowler."

"I'm Hermione Granger – it's nice to meet you. Actually I was just wondering where I could find some cheap accommodation places. I was just past the local apartment complex and it's roped off-"

"Oh dear lord, what happened there?"

"No idea, but it was criminal."

Arlene's hands flew up to cup her mouth in disbelief.

"No, not another one!"

"A-another one?" Hermione questioned cautiously, hoping not to seem prying.

"Oh Hermione sweetie, you haven't been here long, have you?" Arlene said. "There've been so many weird things happening in Bon Temps. This place is starting to scare me."

"Well, what's been happening?"

"Girls are turnin' up dead all around and men are disappearin'. Just last week poor Becca Johnson up the street was found in her apartment," Arlene cried, close to tears. Hermione guessed she must have known this Becca.

"Does anybody know cause of death?"

"The police are keepin' it all real quiet, so it's probably somethin' bad," Arlene sighed. "Oh good God, Hermione, I've got kids, and I can't help but think this ain't the right place for them to grow up."

Arlene pressed a handkerchief firmly against her tear ducts, not wanting to ruin her eye makeup, and fluttered her hands in front of her face as if to cool herself off and calm herself down.

"Did you just move here, Hermione?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Well then you're better off seein' Sam Merlotte about some accommodation. He's a landlord for some places so he'll be able to cut you a deal."

Hermione's ears perked up at once at the opportunity. "Where can I find him?"

"I'm on my way to see him now, actually. On my way to work – he owns a bar too, Sam. You could say he's a jack of many trades. Hey why don't you catch a ride with me? You can just leave your car on the street, no one'll take it. We're all good people here after all. Good people that bad things just keep happenin' to-"

Arlene cut herself off, looking terrified. Hermione hesitantly walked up the front steps of her house and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sure your children will be fine," she said kindly. "Sooner or later the law will surely catch this beast of a man."

"Well if we only had more competent policemen," Arlene laughed sadly. "Well, we should probably get goin'. Sam can be a total asshole about punctuality."

* * *

The restaurant Merlotte's was about ten minutes out of the main Bon Temps town and shrouded by trees. Its charm was, in a word, quaint. It was quite small, and its rich brown facade gave it a very warm appearance. It was inviting, if reserved. There was something a little bit off about the place nonetheless – something not quite as alluring, something secretive.

Inside, Hermione found, was divided in two by the bar that faced the entrance. To her left were the booths and tables that diners sat at and enjoyed their meals – the smell of dinner was beginning to waft through from the kitchen – and to her right was a pool table for entertainment. There was that old-fashioned appeal yet again. It did not look rich nor did it look shabby. It was welcoming and very middle-class – not snobbish and uncomfortable – and Hermione decided she quite liked it, and she would like to visit it as often as she could. She made a note to herself to ask Arlene for proper directions once she had a place set up.

Behind the bar, a stocky, scruffy-haired man dressed in a plain forest green t-shirt stood wiping beer steins. Flecks of grey tickled his sideburns and his features, if not stunning, were both poignant and interesting. Hermione had only read about profiling and had never really tried to use it as a skill, but the man seemed like an old soul that had been running. He was definitely not ordinary. The lines on his face spoke multitudes. He, like the bar, was a character of secrecy.

"Hey Sam," Arlene called out casually as she entered the bar after Hermione, marching right up to the bar to greet her boss.

"Hey Arlene," he looked up unaffectedly from his dull task. "You're-" he took a glance at the wall clock, "-fifteen minutes late."

"No I am not!" the redhead exclaimed indignantly. "And it's not like anybody else is in here yet anyway. Where're Dawn and Sookie anyhow?"

"Doing prep," Sam shot back, a slight smirk appearing at the corners of his lips. His gaze then moved from Arlene and landed on Hermione. "Who's this? We don't open for another hour."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by Arlene, who was huffily walking off to the back of the restaurant to the employees' only section. "She's new in town and needs a place to stay. Let her rent something."

"What's your name?" Sam asked a little more gently than he had when he'd been speaking to Arlene.

"Hermione Granger. I just moved to Bon Temps today. My previous lodging plans fell through, so..."

"Well Hermione, I'm Sam-" he extended a hand, "-and well, if you can keep up with the rent, there's no reason why I can't find you a place. There are a few apartments you can rent out, but it'll take a few days. You're goin' to have put yourself up in a motel for a couple of days while I get the places checked out. What kind of apartment are you lookin' for?"

"Just a one bedroom is fine," Hermione replied softly. "What would rent cost?"

"Here in Bon Temps, about a couple of hundred bucks a month's a good gauge. You got a job?"

"Well no, I just got here," Hermione slowly answered.

"Well," Sam said. "Gotta find something if you want that apartment. I can be a nice guy but you can't stiff me on rent. I'm not hiring here, unfortunately-"

"Oh Sam, don't be so unreasonable," Arlene barked as she strutted back out of the back room. "'Course you can hire her. She's young and fit, she can do it. She doesn't even have to be a waitress, but Tara's always complainin' she ain't got enough help behind the bar, especially on football nights, so let Hermione do it. She'll fit right in."

"Who will?" a thin, leggy brunette pranced out behind Arlene.

"Hermione. I'm recommending her as a bartender-"

"_Who?_"

"What's with all the racket out here?" another young woman had entered the restaurant, this time a voluptuous blonde. "We haven't even started and already we're arguin'?"

"Merlotte's has a potential new employee," Arlene chuckled.

"And really, nobody bothers to hear what _the boss_ is trying to say?" Sam attempted to argue. "We're not hiring."

"Sam, don't be like that!"

"Sookie, we're fine as it is and too many cooks in the kitchen spoil the broth."

"Do _not_ try to get all philosophical on me, Sam Merlotte. Don't you wish you could have someone help Tara tend the bar for you, instead if you having to do it yourself anyhow?"

The girl called Sookie shook her head in a slightly defiant manner and turned to Hermione. "So you're the new girl? I'm Sookie Stackhouse, it's very nice to meet you."

"She is not working here-"

"Sam, you're outnumbered," the brunette giggled. "As long as she doesn't plan on stealing our tables, I'm fine with her stickin' around. And we _do_ get shorthanded anyway, even as waitresses, can't deny that. I'm Dawn, by the way." She too held out a hand.

"Hermione Granger."

How absolutely, entirely surreal. Surely her luck couldn't turn around _that_ quickly. She hadn't even said anything. Nobody bothered to ask her if she knew how to mix alcohol, or if she even wanted a job at a bar, even if it seemed like a slightly more respectable one...

"All right fine. Tara's got herself a new assistant," Sam cut in. He reached beneath the cash register and pulled a thick mossy-looking hardback. "Here, Hermione, handbook. You start tomorrow night, that'll give you some time to read up. Tara should be able to teach you as you go along, but I ain't got that kind of time to do it myself. You good at memorising? 'Cause when all the orders pile up-"

"Sam, stop purposely tryin' to scare her," Sookie laughed. "She'll do fine."

"We don't even have any idea if she's mixed whiskey sours before."

"I haven't, but I'm a good learner," Hermione finally decided to chip in. "And really, with so many wonderful co-workers, and I'm sure a wonderful boss, there's nothing to lose, is there?"

Mixing drinks was not exactly a dream job of hers, but innately, Hermione knew that she had to be the daftest person in the world to reject this opportunity. It would help her feel less out of place in Bon Temps – let her mingle with the crowds more and allow her the freedom to be inquisitive without sounding intrusive. A bartender gig would give her the right to information. After all, drunk customers got closer to their servers than anybody. A job at Merlotte's could mean the perfect avenue to discuss some local vampire politics. As respectable as a place like Merlotte's seemed, there was no telling exactly how decent its patrons were. They might know something important.

Sam shook his head as though defeated. His facial expression, however, was not one of exasperation or anger. It was rather neutral and perhaps he wasn't as antagonistic about hiring her as he initially seemed.

"All right now, everybody go back to prep. Hermione, do you have a car?"

"Well, it's outside Arlene's. She drove me here-"

"Okay, I'll drive you back into the town so you can pick it up, then I'll lead you to a motel you can stay in just for the time being while I sort out your apartment."

* * *

The space smelled mouldy. It even _looked_ it. Cold and damp, with an unattractive hunter green carpet and a single queen-sized bed covered in dusty burgundy sheets. The only other furniture in the room was a simple bedside table with a lamp, the small cubby next to it and a small grimy TV that looked like it hadn't been used in a decade. There was no desk, no sofa, not even clothes cupboards. The bathroom was cramped with a minute shower unit that could barely fit a person, and the sink was mere inches apart from the toilet. But it would have to do.

Hermione dumped her bags in the corner of her motel room and flopped exhaustedly on the bed, only to find that the mattress was incredibly lumpy. This was not the ideal end to a bad day, but at least it could be considered productive. Truthfully, though, now that Hermione had the dead quiet of the room to gather her thoughts, a new job could only overcomplicate things as she was forced to build relationships with her co-workers. That was simply something Hermione did not feel comfortable with. She was horrible at socialising. Those people could end up getting in the way of her real task. That was always something she had to remember – what she was _really_ in Bon Temps for.

Sighing in frustration, Hermione pulled herself up and sat staring at the cracked cement walls. She reached for the television remote and began aimlessly flipping through stations, not really sure what she was in the mood for. Her day had left her rather numb. There was a commotion outside the motel, it seemed, for lots of shouting had ensued. Her mind was fuzzy due to jet lag but nevertheless, Hermione stumbled clumsily to the tiny curtained window and drew the drapes back.

It was merely a group of youngsters – in their early teens, most probably – starting an unnecessary scuffle. Hermione watched unconcernedly at the group as the children quarrelled. They looked about ready to throw punches. Shouldn't she do something about the situation? Try to break it up probably? Would anybody else who saw them give a hand? Dispersing the mob was the most plausible and sensible thing to do, but at that point, Hermione couldn't bring herself to step out of her little motel room. Those children reminded her too much of what she once had. Her close friends. Her eyes had glazed over as she recalled the old days, Hogwarts, life when it was less complicated. When it was not riddled with so much death. She turned her face away from the window and quickly tugged the curtains shut.

It seemed like every day that went by, she missed Harry and, although she would never admit it to him, Ron more and more. There were many things Hermione would be if she had not met either one of those boys – she might have still been socially awkward, inept at relationships – in short, a robot. Being thrown in the battlefield with all her loved ones provided her the sick sense of romanticism in nobility that had been lost in her upbringing. She loved her parents, and yet she found them suffocating to live with, especially after her tenure in the War. There were no hugs and kisses in their household, no simple congratulatory remark, no healthy encouragement of curiosity in children – nothing. For years she struggled as a child when she was forced to grow up too quickly. No one could relate to her, nor did they want to. That incident with the troll changed her life. Harry and Ron had brought back not only the childhood she never really had but also gave her a reason to fight for the life that was given to her.

The arguing and screaming had died down outside. Could she venture outside now? She needed to find herself some dinner anyway. Hermione stole a glance at the old wall clock facing her bed. It was a quarter to eight – was it really that late? Taking a few moments to regain her composure, she then trudged into the bathroom and stared herself down in the filthy mirror hanging over the sink, swiping at her face to remove the trailing mascara from her cheeks. Only then did she realise that it had been awhile since she had properly studied her reflection, and she was disconcerted by what she saw. It was not that she looked much older than she did during her old school days – she was not ageing inelegantly whatsoever – it was just that she was utterly surprised – and honestly disgusted – at the air of innocence that still continued to grace her features. It was almost like her face was putting up a front, or refusing to accept the reality of the circumstances. There was also fear in there somewhere. It only made itself known very sparingly, in little flickers and flashes – almost like a trick of the light.

Maybe that was the real reason she did not want new relationships. If she had to lose them again, what was the real point of it?

After awhile, Hermione could not bear the silent company of her reflection any longer and she quickly reapplied her eye make-up before returning to the bedroom, grabbing a small mokeskin hand bag from her suitcase. She picked up her wand and room keys from the bedside table and stored them safely in her jeans pocket before giving the room a final sweeping gaze and leaving, slamming the creaky door behind her.

* * *

**A/N:** To be honest, I can't remember if this chapter has undergone the beta process, but I'll check it again after I upload it anyway. I hope you all like this one - how many people saw this coming? ;) I would like to think nobody, but clever souls lurk these pages too. Anyway, please drop a review in if you can, and thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

Hermione hadn't yet lost her ability to swallow text and in a flash, she could remember every step in Sam Merlotte's guide to mixing every drink imaginable. Now there was theory and there was practice, and while she had collected Outstandings in Potions class for seven years, there was nothing in her repertoire like this. Some of her slightly more irritable customers were left genuinely pissed off while others were more forgiving, but everyone was always left with rather unsatisfactory drinks when it was something she had mixed. It was not Tara's problem – Tara had refused such responsibility.

"I had to learn these techniques all by my damn self, so you'll be doin' the same," she had snapped on Hermione's first night. "I ain't got time or patience for this."

Or so she claimed. Needless to say, for the first few nights, Tara was remixing nearly all of Hermione's orders for disgruntled patrons. Sam's initial hunch about her was right. Hermione was plain lousy at bartending. She was so terrible that he decided he rather risk his long-time, loyal customers – those who'd come back regardless of bad drinks – on her than let her tackle the fresh meat. Whenever he noticed that it was a fresh face at the bar, he made sure either him or Tara snatched the order up before Hermione's over-eagerness got in the way.

"What's a clearly educated girl like you doin' in a cow town like this anyway?" he had asked her the second night. He was genuinely curious.

"Personal issues," Hermione had answered vaguely. "Sookie, order for table five up!" Neither Sam nor anyone else could get a word to her the rest of the night.

Hermione knew it was probably rude that she was denying these people personal information about herself after they had been so kind to let her into their establishment in the first place. She simply reckoned nobody would want to hear about a witch in the middle of a busy night at work, and she did not want to lie to any of these folk. They were nice and hospitable – shaking up their lives unnecessarily with certain facts seemed a stupid idea. Muggles were so easily spooked.

Once or twice, she caught Sookie Stackhouse staring at her in an odd way. It was as though she was out of her element – some of the patrons at Merlotte's called her retarded – and it disturbed Hermione. Frankly, by instinct, she did not consider Sookie to be 'normal' like everyone else. That is, not purely Muggle. There was something different about the blonde darling many patrons seemed to know and whisper about.

Then one night, Merlotte's was particularly chaotic. It was bursting at its seams and it was Sookie's night off. Hermione, still not having quite gotten the hang of concocting the perfect Shirley Temple, traded places from behind the bar and became one of the waitresses. She fared slightly better in that position if a little slow in her pace. Sam was not pleased and it was evident, but there was barely room to breathe let alone give her a lecture. He'd give it to her good once shift was over though.

However the highlight of her night came when she was serving Hoyt Fortenberry and his mother at table seven. At a table near theirs, Jane Bodehouse was sat with a bunch of rednecks. Jane had come into the bar every night since Hermione had worked at Merlotte's and according to Tara, had been doing the same thing for months prior anyway. She would sit all night and inebriate herself, hoping someone would take her home with them away from her bedridden diabetic husband. Jane also had a grown up son who always had to come and pick her up at the end of her drunken nights. Everybody knew how much it embarrassed him, except his own mother.

So that night was not particularly different. Jane was still consistently downing cognac after cognac, talking up a storm, until a particular sliver of gossip caught Hermione's attention just as she had set a steaming plate of fries with ranch dressing for the Fortenberrys.

"Y'know where they say Sookie Stackhouse is tonight?"

"Isn't it obvious?" a peeved, intoxicated redneck growled. "With that vampire."

"Ugh," another shuddered. "Fangbangers. Ain't no good'll come out of 'em."

"Just as bad as vampires themselves," Jane groggily agreed.

Sookie knew vampires? Hermione tried to contain her excitement and almost missed Hoyt's order of beer. As she made her way back to the bar to get the Fortenberrys their Budweisers, it was clear the cogs in her head were twisting the situation in her favour. This would make her task so much easier. If she could just talk to this vampire friend of hers...

"What the hell are you so happy about?" Tara chortled at Hermione.

Hermione shook her head quickly. "W-what? Nothing! Two Budweisers for the Fortenberrys please."

"You're smiling like a maniac," Tara replied as she slid the steins onto the tray and went back to the gin cocktail she was mixing. "People will start calling you the next Sookie, goin' round grinnin' like that for no reason."

"Well..." Hermione took a glance around her to make sure Sam wasn't catching her slacking before speaking. "Now that you mentioned Sookie... You're her best friend, so I guess I can ask you. Do you know about the vampire she's apparently hanging out with? I just heard Jane Bodehouse and those countryside rednecks talking about-"

"Whoa hold up," Tara snapped. "Why the hell would you want to know somethin' like that?"

Hermione was taken aback. "I-I didn't mean to offend you, it's just- I was just...curious."

Her last word came out as a squeak. Tara had gotten angry with her but not as much in the past.

"Look, everyone here knows about it anyway, so I don't see how it's fair that you don't – it's true Sookie knows a vampire," Tara said as she tried simmered down. "But I'll say this as a work mate and friend, do not go messin' with these things. They are dangerous business, got that? Fuckin' weird mind warpin' freaks of nature. Don't you go lookin' for them. Please. You don't know what they're capable of."

Hermione remained silent for a few moments, unsure of how to respond. Creases had begun to form on Tara's forehead and it was suddenly evident that the hatefulness in Tara's voice was not vindictive without reason. Sookie was like a sister to her – Hermione had pretty much worked that out from all the conversations those two shared – and the cruelty that she seemed to spit out was simply deep worry.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"It's okay," Tara sighed. "But Hermione, you need to work on your people skills. Don't go assuming everyone's okay with everythin' that's gonna come outta your mouth. It can be hurtful."

Both women stood staring at each other, shuffling their feet, for a long time. Hermione could almost feel the guilt prickle up her limbs and senses.

"Hey, what's goin' on over here?" Sam asked as he strolled up to the counter with a crate of beer refills for the fridge. "Everythin' all right?"

"I need a break," Tara sighed as she threw down her dishtowel and ripped off her tiny apron before stalking off to the back room without a word. She looked close to tears.

"Now? We're in the middle of dinner rush, Tara!" Sam called after her. He stared in the direction she'd gone in for awhile before turning to look at Hermione.

"Those Budweisers for anybody?" he sighed, beginning to crack open his crate.

"Um, yes," Hermione mumbled as she brought the tray up from the countertop slowly, carefully spun on her heel and went back to serving. The sickle of culpability continued ploughing its way into the valves of her heart.

* * *

"I'm not comfortable on these things," Ron mumbled as he fiddled with the overhead lights on the plane. "Remind me why we're taking this again. Why can't we just Apparate?"

Ginny sighed in exasperation. She had repeated herself several times – at the Burrow, in the taxi to the airport, in the airport and whilst boarding – and still Ron was not pacified enough to sit still and leave her in peace. To be fair, he was probably just terrified of the Muggle aeroplane – what could beat wizard safety measures? – although honestly, he was making too big of a fuss in her opinion. She had ridden in planes before and it had been fine.

"Because you have not Apparated farther than Scotland and I won't risk you either ending up in the Atlantic on an iceberg or Splinching yourself trying," she said with a drone in her voice.

It was ten minutes to take off and Ron was perspiring bullets from his forehead. Nausea had begun to plague him at the mere thought of his first plane ride. His knuckles were white as he gripped his knees and he was paler than normal.

"Oh Ron, will you stop being such a baby? Do you want to go find Hermione or not? I can easily kick you off this plane," Ginny griped.

"Of course I do. I just don't see why I have to risk my life on this...thing," Ron squeaked.

Ginny lowered her voice to a whisper. "Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, but we are going to have to do this. We can't fly there by broom, neither can we Floo there. We're not on official Ministry business and there will be no networks open for us to use. The United States privatised their Floo Network, remember?"

"Yeah yeah, I was part of the conference that discussed it, thanks," Ron grumbled.

"So you know why we have to do this. Stop being stupid."

"Ginny?"

"_What_, Ron? I want to relax now so will you please drop this whole plane phobia of yours?"

"That's not what I wanted to say!" Ron replied indignantly. "It's just...what do you think Hermione will do when she sees us?"

"Throw a fit? Declare never to speak to us again? Who knows," Ginny shrugged as she settled as far into her seat as possible and closed her eyes.

"You don't sound worried at all. You know how easily upset she can be..."

"And do _you_ know why she is?" Ginny scoffed. She was about to go off at her brother again when she realised that he was actually hurt.

"Look," she said resignedly, running nervous fingers through her long crimson locks. "I don't want to put you down, contrary to popular belief. But you've got to know that you hurt her. She did tell me that part of the reason she left was because of you and she'll kill me for bringing you with me to try to convince her to come home, but in the end I think she'll forgive you too. She's never angry at you, Ron. You mean too much to her."

"It sure doesn't seem like that."

"Only because you're always on the defence," Ginny argued. "If you tried to be more sensitive, and stop antagonising everything she says, she'll come back. She just doesn't feel like she can trust you to have faith in her anymore."

Ron's ears were slowly tingeing red with embarrassment. Ginny then left him alone and he sat in silence while she pulled a book out of her knapsack and started reading. Even as the plane rumbled into motion, he was too preoccupied with his thoughts to really be afraid. What Ginny said had made sense. If he was going to succeed in bringing Hermione home, he had to fix his own problems first. His insecurities, inner rage...all of it had to go. They had to work out. He couldn't lose her. Not again.

* * *

"Sookie, can I ask you something...personal?" Hermione mumbled the next afternoon before work. Tara hadn't clocked in yet, and Dawn was nowhere to be found – she was not always the most punctual, especially if she had been having one of her late-night trysts. Arlene had the day off. This gave her a little time. The only one she really had to worry about was Sam, but he was outside unloading stock.

"Sure, Hermione," Sookie smiled. It seemed like this girl was perpetually happy and willing. "What is it?"

"Do you know anything about...vampires?"

"Before I answer that, can I ask why you want to know?" Sookie laughed as she lightly brushed her hair, pulling it into a bun.

"I heard Bon Temps has a certain... notoriety and reputation for it," Hermione hesitantly responded. After what Tara had told her the previous night, she did not want to risk being brash.

"Well, it's true, Bon Temps has gotten a few vampires," Sookie acknowledged. "But they're nothing to be afraid of! Really, all the stereotypes, all of that's bullshit. In fact, I'm friends with one."

_So I've heard_, Hermione thought. "You see, I've always been very interested in vampire politics. I've not formed real opinions of it, well, because I don't know any vampires personally. I tried to talk to other people about them before, but they've all shied away. I'm glad I've found someone who seems supportive of the movement. Do you think I could meet this friend of yours?"

Sookie's grin widened. "I'd be very happy to introduce you to Bill, actually-"

"Sookie!" Sam's voice resonated throughout the wooded hallway. "Could you do me a favour and drop by Dawn's?" he appeared at the doorway to his office, where the girls were getting ready.

"Why? You already know she's probably just late like she always is. Rumour has it she left with my brother yesterday so you _know_ she won't come in till six tonight."

"Well, I can't get her on her cell phone or her home line, Sook. Could you go quickly? Before shift starts? I just need to know if I have to have either you or Hermione double up," Sam pleaded. "It's Thursday night, you know how busy the place gets. I might even have to call Arlene in if it gets too bad."

"Oh all right," Sookie sighed, tearing her apron off and walking out. "You owe me one, Sam!"

"Sure!" he replied, almost snickering. He then glanced down at Hermione, giving her a friendly smile. "You sure seem to be fitting in nicely here. I'm glad. Wouldn't want you to be all uncomfortable. The rest are treatin' you right, I assume. And I know I wasn't too keen to let you in at first, but I guess my instincts were wrong then. You've been a great help, Hermione."

"Well, it does take some getting used to," Hermione admitted. "The customers can get pretty out of hand on some nights."

"Ah, I guess it comes with the territory of running a bar," Sam chuckled. "You get the sleazes, the rednecks, and sometimes on a good night, you get a decent person. Then you get the other kind too."

His gaze suddenly darkened and he started to stare off into space. The blue of his eyes was shrouded with frustration, doubt, despair and so much more that Hermione could not discern.

She tentatively spoke up, "What are you talking about?"

"Look, I heard you talking to Sookie about vampires," Sam interjected, although not rudely. He placed a warm hand on her shoulder. "You're a nice girl, like Sookie. The thing is she got mixed up with the wrong sort. It's hard to...make her see with that mule brain she's got. She's not stupid, but _so_ stubborn. And here she is, being talked about even more than usual, and putting her life in danger. I wouldn't even mind so much if she didn't have such a penchant for trouble, y'know?"

"Yeah I do," Hermione smiled sadly. "She means too much to you."

It had not taken her long to realise her boss harboured unrequited feelings for Sookie and had done so for a long time. It was simply there in his actions, in the way he looked at her... Anyone could tell that he was absolutely smitten. He would do anything to protect her, and it reminded Hermione so much of her days at Hogwarts yet again...

"Well, anyway, I won't intrude on your personal life," Sam said rather suddenly. "But I do ask that you leave that sort of business out of work, okay? Don't bring any of those vampires into my bar and I won't bug you about them."

He did not sound very convinced at his words. Nevertheless, he shook his head and turned to leave the room.

"Sam," Hermione called out. "Thanks. You know, for giving me this job, and for the advice. I mean, I understand your concerns anyway. I want you to know that I won't do anything to jeopardise my time here-"

"Yeah yeah, don't get sappy with me," he laughed. "We've dawdled long enough. I've got some beer bottles to load. They sell out so fast most nights. Oh well, I'll meet you out front."

Hermione smiled softly as he left, closing the door behind him. She took a seat in his desk chair for a moment, her thoughts overflowing and overtaking her. She let it all filter through as she sifted through the debris of her mind. Hermione had to admit, the people at Merlotte's were becoming like family far too quickly for her to control. She actually enjoyed working in the little grill cum bar. It was such a different experience from working at the high-strung Ministry. There, the sense of accomplishment came differently. The successes were worlds apart. It was a kind of simple pleasure for her to be at Merlotte's. The work was not terribly difficult in most areas, the people were affable and she hardly encountered any hitches. Smiles from the patrons made her feel appreciated, and nowadays, people recognised her, so much so that they even greeted her every time they entered and exited the place. It was almost carefree – a value that Hermione had not let herself believe in for a long time. Sometimes, while in her little bubble at Merlotte's, life was like it was when she was a young girl. She had not known a tiresome life back then. She could be amiable, unconcerned; she could be anything she ever wanted. War changed her and she became a great cynic. Her story after that was not at all exciting. She became a machine. She was unsure if she was completely liberated from that label just yet, but she continued to hold out hope. She did feel happier and healthier than she had felt in a long time.

Hermione took her time to put her things in her cubby shelf in Sam's office, and pulled her curls back into a gigantic ponytail before exiting the room and going out to the front of the restaurant. There was a skip in her step and she had even begun whistling the opening arpeggios of 'Can You Dance like a Hippogriff?', when she stopped in her tracks, an ominous cloud suddenly cloaking the room. Behind the bar, Sam stood sagged against the counter of the bar, his face a sickly green and his ear to the phone. He was speaking so softly it was barely audible, and Hermione started wringing her hands together and cracking her knuckles while she waited. Something was clearly amiss.

"O-okay, I'll be right over. Thanks for callin', Arlene. Give me ten minutes," he finally said before hanging up.

"What's going on, Sam?"

"D-Dawn's dead."

* * *

**A/N:** Just to clarify, this story is **_AU_**, and even though sometimes I do admit to following certain events that happen in the TB books/series, they might be as a result of other forces as well as canon concepts. I hope you guys like this chapter - the action will come soon enough! Thanks for reading, and do drop a review if you can! I thrive off all that stuff :)


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

"W-what?" Hermione asked, dumbfounded.

"She's dead," Sam repeated shakily. "Dawn's dead. I just got the call from Arlene – apparently the whole town knows and they're gathered outside her house. They say Sookie found the body."

Hermione suddenly felt incredibly ill. She could feel the blood draining from her face, and nausea was creeping through her body. She sunk to the ground and wrapped her arms around her legs as she squatted, her stare blank and helpless. She was not particularly close to Dawn – they rarely spoke outside of work and their conversational topics on the clock never extended beyond "Oh I love what you did to your hair tonight!" and "Table five needs a refill!". Still, all of that notwithstanding, death affected her incredibly deeply.

"W-what should we do?" was all Hermione could ask numbly.

"Well I'm goin' over there now to check on Sookie. Findin' something like that can turn anyone's head and stomach. I guess we should pack up too. I doubt the bar'll stay open tonight – everyone's probably not in the mood. You want to get a ride? I can take you home if you like."

_Do I know it_, Hermione thought queasily. "Sure," she replied weakly. "But can I come with you instead?"

The atmosphere of the crowd in front of Dawn's apartment when Sam and Hermione arrived was somewhat appropriately subdued, but Hermione knew that once the body was taken away by the coroners, all hell would break loose. All sorts of gossip would infiltrate homes and the dirty pubs, all kinds of theories would pop up. It was nothing short of disgusting and dishonourable in her opinion. She watched distastefully as Maxine Fortenberry tried to make her son carry her up on his broad shoulders so as she could take a look over the sea of heads, and as Bud Dearborne tried to keep his countenance of 'everything is under control' to pacify the whispering crowd. Detective Andy Bellefleur was nowhere to be found – probably inside interviewing civilians. Hermione hung back while Sam sliced his way through the crowd towards the front porch, where Sookie's tiny blonde figure sat shrivelled up.

The coroner van had not yet arrived, or had it already left? Hermione _had_ to take a look at the body. A sense of closure would accompany it, for she just had to know for sure what was causing such bizarre casualties. Slipping away from the restless mass of the townspeople, she slipped into a tiny little alley. Making sure nobody could see her, Hermione extracted her wand from her shorts pocket and tapped herself on the head in silent spell. It felt as though she was having thick, gooey honey poured over her. She had to wait a good minute, but when she took a look at her fingers again, they were as good as invisible. Anybody who looked at her would assume it was the heat waves messing with their heads. Nobody would imagine a Disillusioned girl was in their midst anyway. However, she still had to be careful. Her cover could be blown if anybody bothered to gape long and hard enough.

As quietly as she could, Hermione emerged from her hiding place and made a beeline for the apartment, snaking her way between the fidgety folk. Avoiding hitting some of them was inevitable given their restiveness but she managed.

She made it to the front of the house and was standing discreetly next to Dearborne's police car when she noticed the coroner's vehicle pull up. Sam and Sookie were sitting on the porch, blocking the entrance, so Hermione had no choice but to enter through the back door. She prayed profusely that the crunching of her feet on dry leaf and grass would not draw too much attention as she snuck her way out back.

The smell of death greeted her. It was not the stench of putrefaction; rather it was the feeling in the air that hung within the house. Life had been sucked out of this domicile. It was desolate and depressing – even the home decor seemed slightly sapped of hue. It made Hermione recall her visit to Godric's Hollow with Harry so many years ago, when they were greeted by an animated puppet of Bathilda Bagshot's corpse – her first Inferius encounter. Back then, it had been difficult to distinguish that kind of air in a setting. It was bristly but not particular.

Hermione shook the memory out of her head and checked that she could still effectively camouflage herself before finding her way around Dawn's house. She eventually found her; the poor girl lay sprawled out on her bed, wide-eyed and covered by a sheet.

The front door had creaked open and faint voices could be heard. It sounded as though the coroners were still outside but they would make their way in very soon. They were probably having a quick chat with Sookie and Sam – giving their condolences. Hermione had to move fast. She quickly pulled the sheet back and inspected the body. There was nothing; not a single mark. She carefully rolled the body over and examined it some more, until she could determine that the only injuries Dawn had sustained were a few bruises on her shoulders and...were those _vampire bite marks_? She felt the vein in her neck begin to throb faster and faster and the blood rushing to her brain was making her feel a little light-headed.

Somehow the coroners were taking their time. Hermione knew that there was only one way to test for vampire killings – from what she had deduced from all the information she knew about them. She scrambled around the apartment, finding a ballpoint pen, and carefully reopened one of the bite marks. Blood spilled from it and it was not only a little. Dawn's jugular was still full...

Footsteps. Two voices were getting louder. Hermione had no more time to ponder, for the back of the lanky coroner's assistant had appeared in the doorway. She hurriedly pushed herself to the ground away from the body and crawled towards the open closet noiselessly, sitting as still as she could inside while she waited for the men to do their jobs.

"Oh dear, looks exactly the same as Dani, Maudette and Becca," Mike Spencer sighed as he stood with his arms in akimbo, staring at the corpse. "Thought Andy Bellefleur said Dawn was covered up in a sheet."

"He did, sir," Neil Jones sniffled softly.

"What's with all this blood? Puncture wound?"

"Looks like it."

"The scene's clear?"

"Pretty sure it is."

"This changes things. We'll know for sure once the autopsy's done. Ah well, doesn't matter much anyway. Sheriff's not goin' to have an off day for a long time given the circumstances."

The coroners finished relatively quickly and Hermione stole her opportunity once they wrapped Dawn up in a body bag and left the room. They were moving in a bumbling fashion – slow and clumsy – but at least they were more focused on keeping the dead weight up to notice anything and she managed to sneak past them. Once outside, Hermione found that her breath had not eased very much and her heart was still palpitating hard against her chest. She sat in the bushes for a little while, trying to piece the puzzle together.

Discovering she still had her waitress order pad in her pocket, she fished it out with a pencil and began to jot things down. It was just the way she organised her thoughts – making lists.

_Serial killer._

_Girls seemingly not killed by any human force: no trauma on the body._

_Possible relation to vampires: bite marks?_

_Full jugular: Victims associated with vampires, but highly unlikely murdered by them._

A vampire would have drained Dawn completely – that was the only plausible way they could kill. It was not like magic, where the Avada Kedavra could basically zap the life out of someone without leaving a single mark. Vampires may be a step up over humanity – apparent immortality – but they weren't that high up on the food chain to have such powers without at least wielding a wand.

So was the killer a wizard?

Hermione had to resist her desire to vomit. She needed advice. And some time without the disturbance of the noisy, gossip-mongering town. It took her several minutes before she calmed down fully and, all the while making sure she was still Disillusioned, she crept out from her hiding place, past the onlookers and ran the distance back to Merlotte's.

* * *

Per Sookie's request, the bar stayed open that night and it was hectic – Sam really had to call Arlene in and have her work – although its spirit was far from cheerful. It was portentous, suspicious, heated and gloomy all at the same time. Hermione stayed behind the bar that night taking care of the drinks, although her heart was clearly not in it. Mixing up which table ordered what was not her only problem – she completely screwed some of them up, adding vodka instead of lager, gin instead of cognac. Everybody else was doing slightly better than she was, if they were still bothered. Sookie looked slightly zoned out that night, pausing very frequently and staring around her, spinning in circles before returning to serving customers. Arlene was as jumpy as a toad that night too.

Tara was late, which sort of annoyed Sam, but Hermione was just pleased to have the company once she showed up. Tara had to deal with all of the angry customers demanding their drinks re-mixed anyway due to Hermione's slipshod skills that night.

"Hey girl, you okay? You're usually lousy but not this lousy!" Tara exclaimed after the fifth drink she was made to fix. She studied Hermione's blank expression for a moment. "This about Dawn isn't it?" she asked cautiously.

Hermione could only nod stiffly.

"Why are you takin' it so hard? It's not any of our business," Tara reassured. "I know that sounds harsh, but we have to get through at least tonight, okay? Sam'll rip you a new one if he sees you workin' like this. He may not seem like much, but he can be pretty scary."

"Two deaths since I arrived here," Hermione blurted out. "It isn't normal for something like this to happen. It's too crazy – almost ridiculous-"

She stopped for awhile. "D-Do you believe in the supernatural, Tara?"

"Well if vampires can exist I don't see how the hell other kinds of random fairytale bullshit can't," Tara shrugged. "The longer those things stay hidden, the better, though. Everybody's already feelin' pressured with all this vampire business. But really, who knows what's out there lurkin' in the bushes."

"Do you think...something other than a vampire could have killed Dawn?"

"Girl, where've you been stickin' your head in? I said they could exist, don't mean they got somethin' to do with this."

"I was being serious, Tara, please," Hermione pleaded. "For all we know it could be. Don't you find all this...scary in the least? Girls are turning up dead one by one!-"

"You're all cheerful tonight," Sam butted in. "I hope you're not bringing my customers down with your bad conversation. They're already turned off by your bad drinks."

That was meant to be a joke – even Tara understood that – but Hermione's frowned only deepened and her lips pursed in frustration.

"That isn't funny," she retorted, eyes flashing as she ripped her apron off and stormed out into the parking lot. The new-girl jokes had been fired at her one too many times and especially when her mood was as unpredictable as it was that night, they could really hurt.

Finally having escaped the suffocating bar, Hermione took in several deep breaths. She then took a quick look around her before jogging to the back where there was less foot traffic. She kept her discretion up as she pulled out her wand.

"Expecto patronum," she whispered, closing her eyes in the process. "_Expecto patronum._"

Gradually, after several repeats of the incantation, a brilliant white, shining otter burst from the tip of her wand and floated around her.

"Minister Shacklebolt," Hermione told it. "Muggle deaths – thus far, two since I have arrived – have occurred and they are impeding my plans of action. It-It does seem like a supernatural death, and it has a link to vampires, but they do not appear to be caused by them. I know our resources are low, but I need some advice. Please reply quickly, thank you."

She stood still for a moment, watching the shimmery otter float into the night sky and in a matter of seconds, was indistinguishable from the rest of the stars.

Hermione was about ready to re-enter Merlotte's – albeit not to apologise for storming out so abruptly – when she noticed Sookie outside the bar having a conversation with an abnormally pale man. Immediately, her radar was up.

_Definitely vampire,_ she found herself thinking. She had no idea what instincts were causing her to feel this way.

Hermione discreetly pulled back into the shadows once again and for extra protection, Disillusioned herself.

"...Gran asked me to, so I was listening in on other people's thoughts tonight and I heard something about a vampire bar in Shreveport that Dawn, Dani, Becca and Maudette apparently liked to frequent. I was wondering if you could take me there," Sookie was saying.

_Listening in on people's thoughts?_ Hermione mused. _What the hell does that mean?_

"I am aware of this bar you speak of, Fangtasia is what it's called," the vampire – Bill? – replied.

"Fangtasia?" Sookie sounded close to laughter.

"Most vampires are very old, Sookie – some are even ancient. Puns used to be a very high form of humour for us. Would you like me to take you to Fangtasia right now?"

"That'd be great actually – the sooner the better! I really want to clear Jason's name, if not for his sake for Gran's. Just let me tell Sam that I'm cutting out early and give me some time to go home and change."

"I'll pick you up there, then."

"But Bill?" Sookie added. "This isn't a date."

A smirk played on the vampire's lips. "Of course not."

"I'm serious! It is _not_ a date!"

"As was I. I'll pick up for our non-date in twenty minutes. Is that enough time?"

"Yes, Mr Compton it is."

_Shreveport_, Hermione thought exasperatedly. _This town is just full of surprises. Time to send Shacklebolt another Patronus I suppose._

* * *

"Notice the blonde in the flowered dress?"

"How could I not? Never has William brought a prettier guest. Didn't think he had it in him, that lone wolf. What is her name?"

"Sookie Stackhouse. She seems to be snooping around our customers, asking all sorts of questions. Think she's dangerous?"

"We may never know. She certainly doesn't look it."

"What I can tell is she's different."

"I know. It leaks from her pores, that smell of fresh meat. In more ways than one."

"So are you going to summon them or should I?"

"Calm down, Pam. Bill knows not to question my authority anyway. They will come. In fact..."

His wrist gave a very slight jerk, a gesture barely noticeable as a wave, motioning his two guests towards him. Already from his seat, Eric could see Bill twitch with fear, unease, indignity and assumed pride. A demeaning leer played across Eric's lips as he watched the pair shuffle their way through the crowd towards him.

"William," he greeted. "It has been too long."

"Indeed it has," Bill replied stiffly.

"Who's your friend? Or should I say meal?"

"Her name is Sookie and she is mine."

"That's right," Sookie spoke up. "I _am_ his."

"Boy, we _are_ getting territorial," Eric's smirk grew to a condescending grin, teeth bared and fangs clicking. He turned to Sookie. "Pam tells me you have been asking questions about my patrons."

"Well yes-" Sookie began to reply.

"If you have anything to ask, you should ask it of me," Eric interrupted.

"Do the names Maudette Pickins, Becca Johnson, Dawn Green, and Dani Sigler mean anything to you?"

"Sadly no, my patrons do not leave their names and even when they are carded it is impossible to match every face to every name we encounter," Eric answered uninterestedly.

"Do these photographs ring a bell then?" Sookie asked as she nervously held out three pictures of the deceased girls.

"Three of these girls I have seen," Eric responded. "That one," he pointed at Maudette, "willed me to bite her but I found her standards too grievingly low for my own. That one," he indicated Dawn, "I have tasted. That one," Becca, "I have seen admiring some dancers but otherwise not much of a social butterfly. The last girl, I have not seen before in my bar."

"Townspeople said she has been here before," Sookie argued.

"I said we don't remember names, but I remember every face that walks into my bar," Eric boomed. "She has never set foot in here."

Sookie was slightly taken aback by Eric's sudden rage. "W-well then, thank you. That was really all I needed your help with-"

"Now I see how she's different," Eric whispered. "Or rather, I smell it. Taints that sweet virgin blood ever so much."

Bill's fingers were curled into the tightest fist he could muster and it took every ounce of his being not to punch Eric from here to Dallas.

"W-what?" Sookie stammered. "My virginity is none of your-"

"You reek of witch."

Pam's face almost lit up in realisation.

"So that's it..."

"I beg your pardon?" Bill asked angrily.

"You can't smell this, Bill?" Eric laughed scornfully. "She's _your_ human, after all. Take a closer whiff. Although I can't imagine how she – being yours – would conceal such important information from you. Wouldn't she have told you of something as significant as coming in contact with our natural enemies?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Sookie yelled.

"Eric," Pam cut in. "She doesn't even know _how_ to identify a witch. It's obvious."

"Humans..." Eric rolled his eyes. "Incompetent of everything except taking advantage of other admittedly more superior beings to them..."

"If they look just like you and I then no, I do not! You can't blame me! You are uncouth, miserable and disgusting," Sookie replied angrily as she whipped around to stare at Bill. "I swear I don't know anything about-"

"When you find her," Eric said, "bring her to me, Bill."

"Why, what's she to you?" Sookie wanted to know.

"Bill, you need to give your human a crash course on magical being history. And teach her some manners. It's rude to interrupt and you realise she has repeatedly insulted me. I do not take that lightly on a regular basis, but I am feeling rather charitable tonight."

"You evil son-of-a-!"

"Sookie, we ought to leave," Bill growled, glaring menacingly at Eric, who simply cackled. "You will not lay a finger on her no matter what!"

"You don't scare me, Billy-Bob," he said smoothly and darkly, leaning back further into his high chair. "Don't forget your place either, chap. You can't protect her forever. I always get what I want. A pleasure meeting you, Sookie."

"Bill, what is he talkin' about? Bill?" Sookie asked frantically but did not get her answer straight away, for Bill had begun to forcefully drag her out of the bar.

* * *

**A/N:** Finally our favourite Viking appears in the story! I do like this one simply because I get to incorporate HPverse magic into it. More of that to come for sure so as we're always aware Hermione isn't a normal Muggle girl. Please review if you can - your feedback could make or break the story! :) Thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

"Bill Compton, you let me go this instant and tell me what the hell is goin' on!" Sookie screamed as they exited Fangtasia. "Why did you let him talk to me like that? What does Eric mean, _I reek of witch_?"

"Sookie, before I divulge any information with you, I suggest you calm down!" Bill warned. "It is in Eric's nature to try to mess with people's heads. Turn the closest of friends against each other. There is absolutely nothing wrong with-"

"Do _you_ think I smell that way?" Sookie questioned. "Whatever the hell that means."

"Sookie-"

"Tell me what all this is about! I know when you keep stuff from me. You should know by now I hate things being kept secret from me. Stop lying to me and tell me!"

"Okay, I will! Just- Just get in the car first. Please. We're causing a scene," Bill answered weakly.

It was true that several vampires and humans entering and leaving the bar were beginning to gawk distastefully at the pair. However, Sookie remained glaring at Bill in the parking lot for a few more moments before conceding to his request.

"Now," Bill started once they were both seated comfortably in his BMW and he had the engine running, "if we promise to speak like civilised folk, we can have this conversation. If I may, you were a bit too emotional in there. And out in the parking lot."

"Bill, of course I was," Sookie said in soft defiance once she had simmered down considerably. "Eric insulted me. And you let him."

"Well, he does that sometimes without a lot of intent," Bill admitted. "I myself am not allowed to defy him. The truth is, he's right about the witch's smell. I wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't mentioned it, though. It isn't very pungent. Eric was just dramatising everything as usual."

"It's... it's a _stench_?" Sookie wondered.

"To certain vampires it is. Those who hold a deep grudge," Bill replied. "Humans do not smell it because there is little distinction between them and witches and wizards. It's all part of the Magical Hierarchy."

"What the _fuck_?"

"That's a long one, so I won't go into it in detail, but in short, humans are the lowest level of the...food chain, if you will, and witches and wizards are only slightly higher up. It is physically impossible to identify a witch or wizard amongst a crowd of humans, but to other supernatural beings higher up on the Hierarchy, it is detectable with varying levels of ease."

"I'm not technically human, so why can't I smell them? Are witches above or below telepaths? And why couldn't Eric tell _I_ wasn't normal?"

"Firstly, witches _are_ above telepaths – they are considered an even further evolution of the human race, just like vampires," Bill said. "Furthermore, Eric knows there's something different about you, but it's easier for you to hide the fact that you're telepathic. It isn't a myriad of energy-based powers out of your control or anything like that. Magic is harder to conceal because there are many arts rolled into one entity. It's a mess in their brains, if you tried to look deep enough into a witch's or wizard's mind.

"Anyway, there has always been a...vendetta between the witches and wizards, and the vampires."

"Why is that?" Sookie asked.

They were driving down the interstate now. Bill remained quiet for a while, as if organising his information before laying it all out for her. He seemed diffident about telling her, and this made Sookie suspicious.

"_Tell me_, Bill."

"I do not wish to slight you if it's true you're unknowingly friends with a witch!" Bill protested, but calmed down considerably quickly. "All right. It started in the thirteenth century, with the medieval witch burnings. In order to escape it, several witches and wizards were spiteful enough to capture vampires and disguise our kind as their own. The burnings only occurred at night so it was not a problem. Not all witches and wizards escaped the pyre by this method, but a considerable amount did. See, they wanted us to pay for stealing several of their own as food, even though we basically had no choice in some circumstances. Blood was – is – our only form of survival. The incident hurt magical relations between vampires and the wizards and witches. There has been plenty of warfare that was kept quiet from the non-magical folk. Long before we revealed ourselves, clearly."

Bill sighed. "Have you been in contact with anyone new lately, Sookie?"

"Well yes, the new girl at Merlotte's," Sookie shrugged. "Hermione Granger. She moved to Bon Temps about a week ago and has been working there since her first day here. I highly doubt she's a witch!"

"You never know. Obviously, you wouldn't be able to tell either way. Have you told her that you knew vampires personally?"

"Yeah, I have. She's harmless, Bill, really!" Sookie tried to assure him. "A curious girl, no doubt of it, but completely harmless."

"We do not know for sure!" Bill responded in aggravation without meaning to. He took his time to regain some composure before continuing. "Has... has she asked you to let her meet any of us?"

"She has. You don't think it's because she wants to start some feud with you people?" Sookie had to laugh – it was too ludicrous! "With no offence meant to her, she wants to meet vampires, but she doesn't look like she can tackle 'em to the ground or anythin'."

"Well she'll get what she wants now that Eric wishes to see her," Bill snarled. "Do not underestimate witches, Sookie. They are powerful in their own right, and do not require physical strength to 'tackle you to the ground', as you so pertinently put. Magic...is very complex. That is irrelevant though; I will know once I see her anyway."

"Hey, don't be like that, you don't even know her! At least I can say I've spoken to her and gotten to know her personality," Sookie exclaimed angrily. "You don't know what her intentions are – she genuinely seems plainly interested in the vampire rights movement – that was why I was gonna let you meet her. You don't know if she's a witch!"

"Neither do you," Bill reminded. "Look, Sookie, you're just in denial because of what Eric and I said. The fact remains that witches and wizards took plenty of our kin many years ago and vampires do not take kindly to that. I think Eric is one of those who holds a grudge. Me, I couldn't really care less mostly because I myself will to be accepted by everyone. It is not to say that what some vampires imply about witches and wizards is necessarily incorrect. You know how I have told you that we do not like our secrets being made public knowledge? It's exactly what witches and wizards want to do these days. They want to put us in textbooks – 'to educate the younger generation' – more like to brainwash them into believing propaganda about us. Even after centuries, they have not given up trying to bring vampires to our knees. If this Hermione Granger is not a witch she has nothing to worry about and I will very gladly not send her off to Eric's – tell him he has made a mistake. But if she is, there will be hell to pay, knowing him."

"Oh sweet Jesus, please, Bill!" Sookie pleaded. "You don't need to do this!"

"It's out of my hands," Bill insisted. "Remember how I previously stated I cannot challenge his command? Eric is not only owner of Fangtasia, he is also the Sheriff of Area 5, and that includes Bon Temps. If I do not deliver the witch, he can swoop in and destroy the whole town looking for her now that he knows where she resides."

Sookie's hands slowly rose to cover her mouth in shock.

"But Eric doesn't know for sure...I didn't tell him..." she tried feebly.

"Oh he will find out, my love," Bill said reproachfully. "He has his ways. I am sorry, Sookie, but it will be easier if we just confront her about it. If she truly is a friend, she wouldn't lie to you much longer. It would cause the town much less grief in the long run. Trust me."

Sookie nodded almost dumbly. Her blood had started to run cold through her body, numbing her entirely, and she was in desperate need for a steaming bath to reawaken her nerves. This was all just too much for one night.

* * *

"Do we even know where Hermione is?"

"Do you ever shut up, Ron?" Ginny asked through gritted teeth. "Can we please find a place to settle ourselves down before we run all over the city trying to find one girl? Get it into your thick skull that she's fine. If she wasn't, the Ministry would have announced it – she's too valuable to those money-mongering pricks."

"Well, sorry," Ron grumbled, shuffling around after his sister who was signalling a taxi. After loading their minimal luggage into the tiny yellow vehicle and climbing into the back passenger seats, they managed to sit in relative silence for all of five minutes before Ron blurted out again, "But where do you suppose we start looking? And don't look at me like that! Don't make it seem like I have not a single moral fibre in my being."

"Ron, don't be surprised at _my_ astonishment with regards your behaviour, okay?" Ginny sighed. "You expect me to think it noble of you now when all you sound like is a desperate schoolboy? You left her alone for years, Ron. I'm sorry, that's not moral fibre. This is your chance to prove yourself to her so we can't screw it up and if you don't be quiet and let me think, we won't have a plan at all. Best use your own brain too. I know you've got one in there, despite how hard it is for everyone to believe. _Listen to me_," she held her hand up to stop his rebuttal, "You are going to shut up for the rest of this ride and prove to me you can actually handle this. If not I'm doing it by myself and shipping you back to London."

Ron's eyes flashed with annoyance for a split second before realising this was the formidable side of his sister ready to be unleashed. She had a point – he had done nothing but irritate her so much she hadn't any time to think! Nevertheless, he could not help those impulses. As much as he hated to be overshadowed by everyone else, having been put into that predicament since a young age had made him lazy with his brain. These days, he couldn't just settle for being competent. He needed to outshine everyone else. It was the only way he could earn back all the respect from his peers that he had lost so many years ago.

He and Ginny put themselves up at a cheap Muggle establishment a little away from the airport. It was merely a dump site for their bags – they planned to spend most of their time out of the confinements of the little apartment anyway.

However that first day in New Orleans, both Weasleys did nothing but stay cooped up. As Ginny had put it, they needed a plan of action. Neither had ever stepped onto American land, and they had no idea where to begin.

"Do you think she's in the yellow pages?" Ron suddenly asked her after awhile, hoping for Merlin's grace that his sister would not turn it into another sarcastic jab at him.

"I'm surprised you know what the yellow pages are, Ron," Ginny laughed. "Applause for that suggestion, but why would she be in one?"

For once, since he had gone to her demanding to know where Hermione had gone off to, she seemed genuinely interested in what he had to offer.

"You said Shacklebolt put her up in a place here. Maybe that includes registering her in the phone book. I mean, she supposedly 'moved here' right?"

"Supposedly," Ginny considered. "But she isn't a citizen."

"Worth a shot though. We don't have much else to go on with," Ron shrugged. "It'll be a start."

"I just think they'll be over a hundred Hermione Grangers. I know the name isn't technically a common one, but you never know. It'll be hard to find, so we better have a backup plan too."

"Well the thing is we don't even know if she's _in_ New Orleans," Ron said. "She could be anywhere in Louisiana, knowing her. She could have made a detour. Or been her usual inquisitive self and decided to go exploring."

"You're right, knowing Hermione, she eats, drinks and breathes any job she undertakes. But we've got to start somewhere, nonetheless," Ginny agreed. She stopped in her tracks and stared at her brother in amazement. "Whatever I said to you in that taxi made sense, didn't it?"

"Look, I'd rather we not talk about that, okay?" Ron sighed, rubbing his temples. His features were scrunched up, and he seemed paler than usual.

"Ron, are you okay?"

"Just tired, Gin," he responded unenthusiastically. He roughly tugged his socks off and climbed under the covers of his bed that was right up against the wall, burying his head in the pillows and heaving the dusty maroon quilt over his head.

* * *

The wood had creaked since she was a little girl. The metal doorknobs had always been rusted. Hinges squeaked from lack of oiling, and dirt had permanently lodged itself between the cracks. However the windows were spotless. They were the best indication of what went on inside – everything was pure of heart and action. Everything was immaculate, well kept and appropriate. There was nothing that should have to take that away. Things was just looking up. But in the end there was always a catch, wasn't there? All lives, even those of the most proper came to an end, and sometimes very unfairly. Sometimes she wondered if God was playing games with her in these instances. Her father, her mother, they were both gone – all because of an _accident_. Tonight was no accident, though.

As she turned the locks after another night – one admittedly more tiring than most others she'd had – she felt the lassitude of her muscles infiltrate her bones. She had just been wondering if what she had done was fair to him when she felt it. The stickiness beneath her feet – she had in fact nearly slipped on the substance. It had taken her awhile to find the light switch but when she did she wished she had not at all. From that moment on, the house did not feel safe. It did not even look real – more like a scene in a black-and-white film. The only colour that registered within her was the crimson of the blood-stained tiles.

* * *

Hermione finally had a night off and in spite of the workaholic within her, she decided she wanted to stay home. The new apartment Sam had let her rent was a nice cosy number – not particular spacious but good enough for a single tenant. Hermione wasn't very picky about how big a place she got; she merely needed enough room for all the books she had. As always, she could be considered the mobile library with all the tomes and volumes she had decided to bring with her.

Indulging in the innocence of an ice-cold Butterbeer – she had stopped taking it warm since arriving in the heat Louisiana – she settled down into a reclining chair and extracted _Documents of the Undocumented_ from a dusty trunk she had magically Enlarged to fit all the books. The book was written by Hannah Abbott two years after she graduated Hogwarts and Hermione was frankly surprised that her old year mate had decided to become a specialised researcher of magical creatures, given her lack of enthusiasm in Care of Magical Creatures at school. It was like a shrewd Luna Lovegood or something as ridiculous. The book itself was not particularly successful in its tenure – Gilderoy Lockhart still managed to sell more books than anyone else, which was such a mystery – although Hermione remembered the launch party she was forced to attend.

It had been the first event she'd turned up to since the Great War ended, not counting Harry's funeral. The manner in which people stared – unabashedly, coldly, judgementally. One, two, three – count the faces and you realise none of them were kind or inviting. Hermione supposed that they just figured she did not want anything to do with them and so they thought they were being reciprocal in behaviour. It was not really what she had wanted, the loneliness. It was something she felt she was thrust into. Eventually, a few minutes after she had arrived at Flourish and Blotts, where the party was taking place, she met up with the author herself and heard the first words that comforted her the entire night:

"I'm so glad you could make it, Hermione. Honestly, I doubt anybody thought you would. But really, who better to ask for book advice than you? God, I can't tell you just how much this means to me. And to Neville! It just seems like windows of opportunity are finally showing up in my life, you know? I'm so happy you received your position at the Ministry, by the way. It's what you always wanted to do, right? Rights in the wizarding world? Sounds absolutely fascinating! Hermione, I... I know that you've been through a lot – way more than most should even have to go through. And I also know we were never close, but you know what? I'm open to say never say never! I'm here for you, Hermione, even if you think everybody here just wants to claw you to pieces. They don't understand. I lost my baby brother and father in the War. I know it's not exactly the same, but it's a close comparison. We both have skeletons in the closet, but if we let them affect our current lives, it won't do us any good, will it? Enjoy yourself tonight – it's your first night out in awhile! Nobody will bother you, but do try to be sociable. Ron and Ginny are around here somewhere, and I think I saw Dean and Seamus somewhere."

Of course, no sooner had Ron spotted her did he proceed to take the Mickey out of her outfit – he was never good at conversation with anyone – and that did nothing for her night. Nevertheless, the things that Hannah told her was touching and it affected her very deeply. It _was_ true that the wizarding world would move on with their lives. For a couple of years, Hermione had simply been cloaked by death. Her vision was blurred and she moved monotonously, focusing plainly on work. To a certain extent she still did that, however she was beginning to open up a little bit more as well. She supposed that she felt so insulted that everyone could afford to move on before she could. Her vulnerability made her feel disconnected from everyone else, hence her apathy.

Deciding she needed something a little stronger, Hermione walked into her little kitchenette and poured herself a shot of Firewhisky. Another consequence of the War was that she had become a bit of an alcoholic. If she did not impose any control over her mind before the Firewhisky took over, she would not stop voluntarily.

Luckily, a string of quick knocks against her door broke her cycle before she had the chance to pour herself a second shot. To be entirely frank, she was not in the mood to entertain people. She had a night off, for goodness' sake, at least let her take a break from the stupidity and ignorance of some of her customers! All the same, the courtesy her parents had so kindly ingrained in her being since she was a little girl beckoned her to the door.

"All right, all right! Stop causing such a commotion, I'm coming!" she yelled as she trudged to the door and fiddled with the padlock for a minute before flinging it open.

"Hermione?"

"Sam? What are you doing here?"

* * *

**A/N:** I've been uploading consistently week by week so far, however I've reached a little block - exams! I'll be having exams starting June 8th running through to June 16th, so I won't be updating this story within that time frame. So please be patient readers :) I know I left a cliffhanger for everybody to chew over, so have fun with that! ;) Your theories are fun to hear. Thanks so much for sticking with me, please leave a review if you can! Thanks for reading :)


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

"Sam?" Hermione asked tentatively, her eyebrows knitted together in utter confusion. "Shouldn't you be at the bar?"

"I, ah, no. Closed up early to go to Sookie's grandmother's Descendents of the Glorious Dead meeting tonight. They had the local vampire in – Bill Compton – to give everyone a talk about his past and all that stuff. Real interesting."

Sam sounded extremely sarcastic.

"I was surprised that you didn't show up, Hermione. Thought you would've. You give the impression that you're pretty interested in vampires, as far as I know. It's all you ever seem to talk about at work."

"Well, I would have gone if I knew it was even going on," Hermione shrugged defensively, annoyed at Sam's pointed attitude. "How long do I have to live here before I receive these sorts of invites? Suppose I don't know you people enough to meet family," she joked lightly. Sam barely chuckled and her heart began to sink further. Something in her gut told her there was something amiss.

"I was hoping I could catch you awake. I had to see you about something," he murmured as he stood shuffling from foot to foot. "Can I come in?"

"Sure."

Hermione moved out of the way, although warily. She had to struggle to keep her senses alert through the cloud of her lethargy and the Firewhisky taking into fast effect. As nice as Sam was, she had never had visitors over in her tiny apartment, much less a man at night. The expression Sam wore was basically unreadable, which – if one knew Sam in person – was not very comforting. He was usually tremendously vocal and communicative about his feelings, even if he was reticent about some other aspects of himself. He could be a pain in the ass of a boss, with his yelling and his demands – sometimes it was like he wanted his employees to have herculean speed when serving customers – but it had put a certain image of him in Hermione's mind nonetheless. To see him essentially emotionless worried her.

"Sam?" she squeaked, disgusted at herself for sounding anything but in control of the situation. It was _her_ house, she should be allowed to feel brave and in protection of her privacy. Fear still wrapped around her neck like a noose, though. "I don't mean to be rude, but it's half past two in the morning. What was it you had to see me about that couldn't wait till I went in for shift?"

"It's... something's happened tonight. Sookie's grandmother passed away," Sam revealed quietly. His abnormally composed facade, however, did not break at all.

"Oh dear, I'm so sorry," Hermione gasped. "Is Sookie all right? What happened?"

"From what I saw it was pretty gruesome and well, it's safe to say Sookie's in a lot of shock right now. This murder – yeah, it was definitely murder – isn't like all the other weird deaths that's been happening. If anything it seems like a random act of violence. Anyway, Sookie... She got a little bit hysterical and she says it's because she 'needed' to see you about something," Sam sighed. "What's Firewhisky?"

He had sauntered over to Hermione's kitchen counter and started fingering the tall glass bottle sitting next to the empty shot glass.

"My own personal brand of cognac," Hermione replied with a light flourish of her hand, as if to indicate it was not the most pressing matter to be discussed. "Did- did she say _why_ she needed me? And why right now? It's late and... well after all that's happened I would think she'd like a good night's sleep."

"I... I heard some pretty disturbin' things, Hermione," Sam confessed abruptly, turning around to finally look at her. "You know Sookie's been goin' out with Bill. He's with her right now, and I heard them discussing some stuff pretty urgently and... they said some things about you. Bill tried his best to keep me out of it but well, he doesn't know I have really keen hearing. Anyway, after awhile Sookie asked if I could come over to your place and convince you to visit her. Tonight."

"I'm sure your eavesdropping skills didn't fail you, so what'd they say exactly?" Hermione wanted to know, all forms of hospitality disappearing in her own exigency. Her heart had begun to pound anxiously. In the back of her mind, she knew Sookie and Bill knew about her. "Sam, don't evade the question, I have a right to know if they're talking about me."

"They..." Sam's words hung in the air densely for some moments. "They've been sayin' you're a witch, and not the Wiccan type."

Her blood began to run cold in her veins and she started to gnaw on her lower lip. She was biting down so hard blood had begun to flow steadily into her mouth. However, Hermione couldn't care less. There were two things that frightened her at that point. The first and most obvious one being how had Sookie figured it out? How long had she known? Hermione was certain that she was as discreet as she could have ever been. And why was _Bill_ a part of this?

The way _Sam_ delivered his statement bothered her too. It was his particular _lack_ of response – there was no fear, shock, nothing. He did not seem at all surprised to hear that one of his employees might be a witch. By all standards, he should be freaked out as hell, and there he stood by her counter, still playing with the Firewhisky bottle as if he had done nothing more than ask her for the time. Hermione's first instinct to tackle this problem was of course to lie through her teeth. However, Sam's lingering gaze on her was incredibly disconcerting. It was throwing her off her balance. He was just _too calm_.

_He knows too, so why would you lie?_ Hermione thought.

"Would you believe me if I said I _was_ one?" she asked cagily, walking towards the kitchen counter and snatching the Firewhisky from Sam, pouring herself a shot.

"Of course."

"Why? Isn't it childish talk?" In one gulp, the shot glass was empty again. The sound of the red-gold liquid gushing out of the nozzle into the little glass soothed her in a sick way. She was surprised her gullet hadn't burnt right off after years of chronic whisky abuse.

"I don't think it is. And you know," he remarked, finding himself a glass from her drinkware rack and grabbing the bottle out of her hands. "You don't have to hide it."

_So this is how we're going to do it,_ Hermione thought. _Drink ourselves to the truth._

"I haven't really admitted to anything, have I?"

The lucidness of her consciousness was slowly slipping away and she could feel her muscles relax considerably after she downed yet another glass.

"I'm sure after a few swigs of that you will," Sam observed humourlessly.

Hermione stopped the next drink midway to her mouth, thrown slightly off guard by his assertion, but waved it away unconcernedly. Binge drinking was no longer abhorrent to her anyway. Honestly, the burning sensation of the Firewhisky had become minimal at best. She supposed that these days, she _enjoyed_ the feeling of disconnection from the world once she had a glass too many.

She watched as Sam slowly poured himself a glass before seizing the bottle again almost selfishly.

"Funny how I never used to be an alcoholic-"

"Just answer my fucking question," Sam sounded as though he wasn't in the mood to play games. Truthfully though, neither was she. Hermione certainly did not enjoy lying to half the town that she was a recent university graduate who had left her wonderful urban career as a lawyer to live like a country bumpkin barmaid in Louisiana, thank you very much.

She shook her head in defeat, squeezing her eyes shut. For once in a long time, she was trying to fight the alcohol-induced giddiness in order to give him a coherent answer.

"Fine. The answer is yes, then. I _am_ a witch. Finally got it out of me."

"There, see? It wasn't so hard to admit. You don't have to be so secretive about this. Ever since those goddamned vampires came out, the world's turned upside down anyway. A witch? Least of our concerns these days. You guys don't _eat_ us."

"For all you know, we could be cannibalistic, ritualistic, animalistic... you know all the _lovely_ stereotypes Muggles love to pin us to," Hermione replied bitterly. "We could set you all on fire with a wave of our hands, or make a miniature sun literally shine out of your arse. It'll burn you in the process and we could all just cackle in pleasure, all the while stirring a hot pot of god-knows-what. Go on, I'm sure that's what everyone pictures us to be. We'd also have warts and pustule-ridden hands, and we all dress in long tattered black robes and fly around on brooms."

Sam actually laughed. "Whatever you plan on doin', bring it on. 'Muggles' will burn you all out of here. Whatever the hell 'Muggles' are."

"Non-magic folk. By the way, you think that setting us all on fire is actually going to work? If it does, why are there wizards and witches left from the Middle Ages?" she challenged.

"You could be sneaky bastards. Surely you'll be able to find a way to survive! Disguise yourselves, stop using magic, who knows!" Sam snorted, attempting to swallow all of his Firewhisky in a gulp only to spit it out, repulsed. "That feels like my throat's on fire! How can you drink this?"

"Hence the name _Fire_whisky. It takes some getting used to," Hermione said. She had to sit down now that she'd downed so many glasses. Blearily, she made her way to her sofa and fell over on it.

"For the record, I'm going to assume that this _Firewhisky_ is also a magical thing. It's knocking you out quicker than I've ever seen alcohol hit anybody. Unless you're _that_ much of a lightweight," Sam teased.

"It's just strong wizard's alcohol," Hermione answered exasperatedly. A slur had begun to taint her speech. "Try more; you'll be out of your fucking mind in minutes too. This stuff's kind of like drugs in a way. I don't think your judgement is qualified anyway – you work at a bar for heaven's sake, of course you'd get strong drinkers in there. Those damn redneck hillbilly types, mostly. Without their heads screwed on right. Going around spouting all kinds of bullshit."

"I think that's the first time I've heard you cuss," Sam noted.

"Should I be worried that you keep track?"

"It's something I notice – one of those little habits I spot when I see you every day, Hermione," he answered, plopping down on her couch next to her. "Like how I observe Arlene abuses phone privileges or that Tara generally can't get along with anybody, sober or smashed. You're the novelty darling in these parts, I'm afraid – I've never really seen you angry."

"Oh perfect, as if I wasn't enough of a Little Miss Goody-Goody back home," Hermione groaned. "Breaking out of this image is harder than it seems. Fuck the idiots who say reputations are easy to kill."

"I would say it's simply who you are. It's in your nature to be good and nice and all that," Sam laughed. "It's not really a persona you put on. When you're done disliking it, know that it's not such a bad thing! People here like a good girl once in awhile. A _genuinely_ nice one. Sookie used to be that – the Southern belle everybody dreams about meeting – but her rep's been tainted; she goes around screwing vampires now and the people aren't takin' too kindly to that."

"A little bit too much information there, friend," Hermione said, scrunching her face up a bit.

"Sorry. But anyway, with your own witch business, you don't need to conceal it. Least of all from me. For one, I _ought_ to know, don't you think? Especially before I thought of hiring you. Thankfully you've not scared off any of my patrons!" Sam joked. "God knows what you can do to them. Spellbind them and all that? At any rate, I'm not a stupid person. I know enough to realise that there are other...forces at work among us humans. Way too many things exist, sometimes right in front of our eyes and we can't see it. So what's to say who you are is so out of this world? It might just be because we haven't discovered it yet. After awhile, it could all be what society classes as 'normal'."

"Muggles just can't understand it, so I hide it," Hermione cut in. "Non-magic folk can be really clueless. They're rather ignorant, some can frankly be quite stupid, and it's simply in their genetic makeup to be so. No offence meant of course. I'm not some elitist. Although, I wouldn't say _you're_ like that at all."

Another thing she loved about alcohol: she could always be so bold and self-assured, even when talking about sensitive details nobody else wanted to disclose to other people.

"And how would you know that?" Sam questioned.

"I don't know how I know you're different, but you are. It's a feeling I get when I'm around you. I've had it since the moment I saw you on my first day in your bar. You're not a normal Muggle. In fact, I doubt you even _are_ a Muggle. There's something supernatural in you too. Something you spend a lot of time trying to bury in some bottomless hole would be my guess. It's so deep in you that I think if I wasn't paying attention, I wouldn't be able to tell. So really, _I_ should be the one giving _you_ the lecture on being overly secretive," Hermione mocked, playfully slapping Sam on the arm. When he did not answer, her expression became slightly more serious. He was shutting her out.

The stillness stretched.

"What _are_ you?" She could feel words tumble out without inhibition.

"It doesn't concern you, Hermione," Sam muttered as he shook his head back, downing another glass of Firewhisky. He let her pour him another shot.

"I just shared something incredibly personal with you," Hermione countered, throwing another shot back. "How can it be not my business now? If anything, you owe me. How do you expect me to trust you with that information?"

"I don't. You told me all that on your own free will. We should get going. Can't expect Sookie to stay up any longer-"

"We're drunk, so you can't drive-"

"Don't make excuses."

"Sam, you're the one making the excuses!" she turned to look at him good and hard. Her eyes seemed glazed over as she let them roam over his face blearily, however her mind was regaining a sense of clarity. "Hiding from whatever the hell it is in yourself. Can't we just stick together now? You know me, I won't tell anybody!"

"The thing is I _don't_ know you," Sam said rudely, looking back at her straight in the eye. "How the fuck would I know if you could keep quiet if I told you anything about myself?"

"We all have problems, Sam," Hermione argued. "You're not the only one. The way we get over them is through sharing and hopefully someone can help us overcome it. You're just letting yourself succumb to it and frankly it's a stupid idea. Tell me. What's your secret? Hm?"

"It's irrelevant to anybody other than myself, so I keep it quiet, what's so wrong about that? I don't want to burden anybody!" He was getting furious now.

"And you think _I_ do? You think it's because I want _you_ to carry _my_ yoke that I'm putting all my cards on the table like this? If you believe that, then why should my being a witch be a problem to Sookie? In your logic, it doesn't even concern her so she doesn't have the privilege to know. I could simply not tell her the truth, like what you're doing to me. I could deny it if you told her, saying it's because you got drunk out of your mind and you couldn't think straight that you're spouting all this nonsense," Hermione replied coldly. "If you want to be her knight in shining armour and steal her away from this Bill character, you're doing a poor job. You're not being a very good friend to her-"

"Do _not_," Sam interjected dangerously, "try to give me that speech, all right? I am _fucking_ sick of people riding on me, people trying to make me tell them things about myself. What if I want to be alone and wallow in it all? Ever thought of that?"

"You obviously don't want to be left alone. If you did, you wouldn't still be here. She made you leave, didn't she? Made you run her errands."

"No-"

"She sent _you_ to fetch me. Bill's there with her, and if she asked you for directions to tell him how to get here, _he_ could come for me; you didn't _have_ to do this. And if you wanted to, if you thought it was really as urgent as you're currently making it out to be, you could have dragged me kicking and screaming to see her, and yet you _choose_ to stay here drinking with me," Hermione was suddenly irrationally angry at Sam too. "Sam, what is it? If you keep running from everyone, I'll start to question why you're even living in a town. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. You can fire me now, if you want. Kick me out of this place. We can become enemies for all I care. All I know is that I'll be much better off than you a thousand-fold because I can admit to what I am to my friends if they care to ask. Sure, being a witch is nobody's business but my own. But I'd tell my friends because I'd hate lying to them. You don't strike me as the type to like deceiving people, Sam – you're too much of a good person at heart. So _what are you scared of_?"

Her hand was now on his forearm gently, and her psyche was almost sharp as if she had not taken a single shot of Firewhisky. Now that she was done saying her piece, it felt as though she had just run a ten-mile marathon as fast as her legs could have carried her. Hermione was completely breathless and beads of perspiration had begun to dot her forehead and neck. Her head was pounding. Next to her, Sam sat engulfed in his own silence for a long time, his head down and his hands shaking. He had dropped his shot glass and glass shards of what was left of it lay at his feet. He brushed his hair out of his eyes after a moment and gazed up at her, revealing fresh tears flowing down his face. He did not look hateful – not even close to anger. He instead appeared purely pained and...tired. Exhaustion had caught up with him.

"Look, Hermione," he spoke up hoarsely. "I know you mean well. Goddamn it, I know you telling me all this is probably the best advice I've heard in awhile. But I _can't_ trust people."

"Why?"

"Because we can't trust anybody, Hermione."

"Give me a reason not to." She was clearly determined to prove him ever so wrong. And yet Sam reminded her so much of Harry...

"My own family abandoned me for what I am. They didn't understand just how fucked up and scared I was," Sam answered in a throttled tone.

"My parents were Muggles too."

"But they didn't abandon you, did they?" He sounded so astringent.

"They as good as did," Hermione declared. "It tried to ignore how different I was – _am_. They didn't tell their friends and they stifled me. It made me want to prove them wrong."

"Made you want to feel like you were worth something?"

"Yes."

"So what did you do?"

"I had friends who were like me. Admittedly, I had an easier time than I imagine you had," Hermione acknowledged. "But my point is-"

"I know," Sam interrupted, a small smile finally crinkling the corners of his eyes. "You want me to be able to confide in 'people like me'."

"So are you going to tell me?"

"Don't run."

"Sam, if anything I should be worried about _you_ running away! Not only did I drop the bomb on you about my...identity so to speak; I insulted you too. I'm surprised you're still here."

"Too late to pull anymore stops I guess."

"It was too late half an hour ago when you arrived! Now tell me. Just stop running for once and catch your breath. And wait for me to catch up too."

"Here goes nothing," Sam resigned. "I'm...a Shapeshifter."

Hermione didn't have to look at him. Just hearing how relieved he sounded revealing that to her was enough for her to know he was telling the truth.

* * *

**A/N:** I've returned with a new chapter! :) Exams went well, and I'm excited to be back. So what did you think of this? I know I asked people to give me some theories and stuff, and well, this may or may not please you guys, but we'll see I suppose. Thanks for reading and if you take some time to drop me a review, it's much appreciated :)


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Clockwork. The intricacy of time woven into a tiny circular space. Mechanisms that, to anyone but the clockmaker, seem to be in constant, random and yet ordered motion. It is simply organised chaos. As long as the clock works, honestly, nobody really gives a shit about whether this gear should fit that one; if a certain cog should mesh with another. Indeed, everything is connected, but not everybody necessarily needs to know why. Instead they pin various reasons to things they do not fully understand in essence. Did God create the universe and is He still shaping it? We might be living in the era of change, but if God existed He works without us knowing it and hence, how can we say we're living for His purposes? However if God _did not_ exist, from where does everything even originate? Were we floating here all along, left to our own devices, without any meaning to our existence?

Legends all have basis in fact, and as they say, myths spring from legends. So really, nothing is of the imagination, is it? Yes, we twist the facts to suit ourselves so maybe that's how people view the concept of imagination. Is a person a martyr or is he a vigilante? Is someone a terrorist or revolutionary? The history books tell us different things, but the fact is: what happened, _happened_. Unless we were there too, we could not possibly picture the calibre of certain events that take place. Take that perfectly wound watch for instance. It, too, started in parts and was put together by a convoluted science. You take something out of it and it stops working; plain and simple. A little hiccup in a nice, clean line.

Death puts a stop on continuity for everyone. Whether your dog dies, or your brother dies, or your neighbour dies, someone is mourning and your own life is never the same. You are less innocent. You know too much in the end. The more open your minds gets, the more evil you begin to see. The world isn't your pretty little imaginary land where pink ponies eat hibiscuses and fairies exist. Not that fairies don't – my mistake! Everything exists. All I'm saying is that the world is not perfect, not even that clock. One day, it'll grow old and rusty and it'll _die_, the same way humans do.

All I'm doing right now is...speeding up the process. These blood-sucking fiends need to know who's boss.

* * *

There was always something about wakes for Hermione. She had gone to plenty by then, but she still fussed over what to wear – whether it was appropriate. The day was hot and she felt so sticky the moment she was out of the shower she thought she would need another. Her head was also throbbing ever so slightly from the previous night's drinking. Nevertheless, it was all very tolerable when she reminded herself of the event she had to attend. Sam had left a little while ago to prepare for the wake himself and somehow she wished he had stayed. There was suddenly a lot of loneliness in her little apartment with the mere knowledge that someone a friend knew had passed on.

She chose a simple white knee-length dress in the end, thinking it was not entirely too cheerful and yet not too depressing. Her hands trembled as she slipped her beige heels on and as she picked up her hair product whilst attempting to smooth her unruly hair out without magic, although she failed at it. She only managed to straighten her hair a full hour later and in the process, had burned her hand on a curling iron. It was truly ridiculous sometimes, when she thought about it, to live like a complete Muggle, but Hermione felt that she needed it. It did not do her much good to feel superhuman all the time with her ability to use magic. There were some things she needed to be just barely fixable. Far from perfect, that's what she required. While owning up to wanting to attain pure perfection in her youth, it was now something she detested.

The car ride was bumpy and she could feel herself perspiring in the little Camaro. The air-conditioning had been repaired a few days prior, thankfully, but the Louisianan heat was still unbeatable. Or maybe she had not yet gotten used to weather other than the bitter London chill.

It was Hermione's first time at the Stackhouses and she found the house rather extraordinary in comparison to such a run of the mill town like Bon Temps. It was a large farmhouse and somehow managed to look warm, despite the despairing occasion. Dirty white wooden slats, mosquito nets and what appeared to be oil lamps. It was definitely something preserved out of the very first settlements here.

She was only barely surprised when Sam answered the door. He gave her a small, knowing smile as he let her in, and she realised that she was early – hardly anyone was around.

"She's in the kitchen," he whispered as Hermione slowly entered the house.

"How is she?"

"Silent, still, mostly just entertaining whoever comes along. She hasn't really expressed herself since I got back," Sam sighed.

"Did you tell her why I didn't show up last night?"

"Truthfully, she hasn't spoken about it much. She's been pretty subdued and didn't ask questions when I came back except to help her prepare for the wake."

Hermione found herself nodding as stiffly as she was standing straight. It was like a steel rod was rammed against her back, forcing her posture upwards.

Her steps were slow and quiet, and she was made to greet people she barely knew. Many had come to pay respects to Sookie's grandmother, it seemed, but Hermione knew better. She could smell their excitement for gossip like hungry hyenas eyeing the meal scraps a lion had finished with. It didn't half make her nauseous although in her struggle to remain proper, she kept her mouth shut.

Sookie's back was to the kitchen entrance and Hermione had to give her a light tap to shake the girl out of her little trance.

"Sookie, I'm so sorry," she spoke softly.

"It's very kind of you to come, Hermione," Sookie replied. It pained Hermione to see her attempt a smile. Nobody should have to do that.

"It's the least I could do."

"My grandmother would have liked you," Sookie said suddenly. "And you would've liked her."

"I'm sure of it," Hermione placed her hand on Sookie's shoulder lightly, giving it a bit of a squeeze and hoping to relay some form of consolation to her friend.

To her surprise, though, Sookie grabbed her hand hard and held it tightly – far too tightly in fact. Her cerulean-blue eyes bore deeply into Hermione's chocolate-browns, and the sensations that followed were deeply perturbing and altogether violating.

It was as though the blockades of Hermione's mind were being ripped back with such force of the gale winds surrounding the eye of a hurricane. These walls – iron plates perhaps – were torn at and Hermione's thoughts felt completely invaded.

_What the fuck is she doing? Sookie looks insane! What on earth- is she- is she reading my mind? Damn it! Merlin's beard!_

Hermione was panicking now. She tried her best to yank her hand free, but Sookie's nails dug soundly into the flesh and refused to relinquish their hold on her. By then onlookers had begun to appear at the kitchen's threshold. Sam had entered the room and was gripping Sookie's shoulders begging her to let go of Hermione's hand – "You're hurting her, goddamn it!" – but that attempt was unsuccessful too. There was only one way to shut her out now. Hermione desisted to show weakness and kept her gaze on Sookie but concentrated with all her might nonetheless, flushing all thought and emotion from her head.

Sookie's eyes widened in both shock and terror at the unexpected blankness of Hermione's thoughts. Her grip immediately loosened. It wasn't just thoughts either. There was nothing but blackness in Hermione's being. It was as though she had released a tap that let every detail of herself and was now an empty shell.

"Try reading that," Hermione spat, jerking her hand free and storming out of the kitchen through the back door. She ignored Sam's calls for her to come back; she was too infuriated to care.

Sookie soon caught up with Hermione however and turned her around, putting her hands on either side of Hermione's neck in another stab at reading her thoughts. It was scaring her – this was not the same peacefulness she experienced when letting down her guard around Bill. There was literally _nothing_ in there.

Hermione instinctively slapped Sookie's limbs away. "Ever heard of something called invasion of privacy?"

"What are you?"

"I could ask you that same question, couldn't I? What the hell was that about, you probing into my head like that?" Hermione shouted.

"You... you can _feel_ me in there?" Sookie asked quietly, wholly astonished at this revelation. "N-no one's been able to so far... what- what _are_ you?"

"Hang on. No one else can feel you in their heads like I do?" Hermione's voice quivered softly. She was starting to calm down a lot more, only to notice everybody in the house had come out to the backyard to gape at the two women – some wide-mouthed, others tight-lipped.

Without warning, Sookie turned around towards them and yelled, "Will you all just shut the hell up?"

No one had said a word.

What the hell was going on?

"Sookie?" Hermione gulped. Sookie stood rooted to the spot, looking frantically around her and completely out of her element.

"I said, _shut up_!" she screamed again. It was only when Tara came running out into the garden and wrapping her arms around Sookie, telling the entire crowd to "mind their own fuckin' business" and getting Sookie upstairs before any of the noise stopped.

Hermione too found her feet to be made of solid rock – unmovable. She felt strong hands wrap around her upper arm and drag her away from the house. This was Sam, and he was hopping mad.

"What are you doin' announcin' all that stuff out in front of the whole town?" he scolded softly.

"I didn't mean to-"

"Sookie just lost a family member very dear to her, Hermione!" he exclaimed. "She can't control her impulses, don't you know that? Use your head a little before you go doin' somethin' like that again, all right? You could have seriously hurt each other and freaked the entire town out!"

Hermione didn't understand. Why was he yelling at _her_? Sorrow was _not_ an excuse. She of all people would know it.

"A few things," she said coldly and with such startling composure that it was evident in Sam's face that he was a tad concerned. "Firstly, I have the right to my own privacy. Sookie, grieving or not, had no right to do what she did. _And you know what she did_. Next, don't assume I don't know what she's going through. That's pretty insulting."

"Look, I don't want to pick a fight-"

"Listen, I know you're a good friend to her Sam," Hermione interrupted. "But she didn't ask, she tried to steal that kind of information from me."

"Maybe you should just let her," Sam suggested exasperatedly, but much more calmly than before. "Pacify her. You know her temperament – she won't stop until you tell her the truth. Right now, after such a huge blow, she's bound to be even more adamant than she normally is."

"I'm just wondering, right now in a conscious state of mind that isn't marred by alcohol, what in Merlin's name she wants with that kind of...dirt, if you will, on me."

"You guys swear on Merlin? He exists too?" Sam chuckled. He and Hermione slowly made their way back to the now-empty veranda. More visitors had begun to show up, although it wasn't for the Sookie Stackhouse sideshow this time. They were gossiping avidly at what had just occurred.

"Should we tell them all to go home?" Sam asked, looking disapprovingly at everyone's absurd – and frankly obscene – obsession with scandal. "God, nothing happens in this town way too often. We need some non-supernatural news to keep them busy with," he muttered under his breath.

"We probably should," Hermione agreed. "But they're not going to listen to _me_ – I'm the source of the rumour right now. You go on ahead-"

Sam needn't say a word, though, for Tara stomped down the stairs and did it for him.

"All right now, Sookie needs her rest so y'all need to leave!" she announced, gesturing the door. People started to filter out begrudgingly but one look from Tara sent them nearly sprinting.

"Don't make me tell y'all again!" she snapped. She noticed Sam and Hermione lingering near the kitchen door. "That means you too, Sam. Hermione, Sook wants to talk to you 'bout what happened, so stick around, yeah?"

Sam strode up to where Tara stood at the foot of the stairs. He gazed up to the second storey for a long time before saying, "Let me know if you need anything."

"You're real good to her Sam," Tara sighed. "But honestly, get the fuck outta here. Now."

Maxine Fortenberry and Arlene were the last two to leave. Tara had insulted them to get them to go, and they were in a huffy mood on their way out. Once the house was quiet – the only other person left was Lafayette – Tara turned to look at Hermione.

"She's in the room at the very end," she said solemnly, stepping off the stairs to help Lafayette clean up. The last thing Hermione heard before she made her way upstairs was the two discussing something about white people and their tendency to bring jelly to any and all events.

The stairs creaked slightly at the landing and the walls of the second level of the Stackhouse home was covered in paintings that looked very much home-made. Hermione felt a small lump of shame form in her throat when she realised most of them were done by Sookie's grandmother. She ran her fingers over a particular landscape of the old house, done in oils on canvas. Done the 1800s, this one had history. It was even degrading due to light exposure, although Hermione had a feeling the painting had to be completely obliterated before anybody took it down. Sentimental value.

She gave Sookie's door a couple of soft knocks and when there was no answer, Hermione carefully pushed it open. Sookie sat fingering her little gold charm bracelet, looking anything but broken. In fact, she was still in the equanimity of disbelief at what had occurred. Sookie looked up at the scrape of her bedroom door and immediately Hermione felt so much more remorseful for her harsh words to her earlier. If someone had said something similar to her at Harry's funeral, she would have totally lost her marbles too. While not excusable, she should have been able to understand the grief Sookie was experiencing.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean what I said."

"You did, but that's okay," Sookie responded emotionlessly. She motioned to her wrist, "Gran gave this to me for my twenty-fifth birthday."

"It's- it's very beautiful," Hermione choked back some tears.

"Could you close the door, please?"

"Of course."

With a thud, it was shut.

In their thick silence, Hermione took her time to survey the room. Its furniture was all made of white-painted wood and it actually appeared to be the room of a twelve-year-old girl, not one of a twenty-something-year-old woman. It was not very large quarters by any standards, but it wasn't cramped at all. Against such a backdrop, Sookie looked far more vulnerable than she usually let anybody else believe. Her body was broken, even if she was consciously making an effort to show no sign of weakness.

"You baffle me," Sookie revealed. It took Hermione by surprise; that was the last thing she expected to hear first.

"So do you," she responded faintly.

"I know it's probably not my place to ask what you are. I mean I barely know you still," Sookie said, her tone quivery and uncertain. "But the way I dealt with it downstairs wasn't exactly the best way either."

"No, it wasn't," Hermione wanted to make it clear. "I think I would have told you if you asked properly."

"Why would you though?"

"Because I know you're different too."

"Do us..._different_ people have some sort of weird connection that makes us aware of each other?" Sookie wondered out loud. "Because I knew right away that, say, Bill was a vampire – his skin glowed – and I could sense you weren't _normal_ normal, even if I didn't know what you were."

"We probably do have some method of detection," Hermione shrugged in agreement, pulling Sookie's vanity stool up to the bed and sitting down, now that the atmosphere had eased considerably. "I didn't know you could...read minds, but you weren't an ordinary human either."

Saying it aloud was one of the oddest revelations. Even Sookie looked a little uncomfortable, showing that she never did discuss it with others either.

"So are you really a witch?" she enquired.

That was straightforward, but Hermione could hardly say that she was surprised at all.

"Yes. Yes, I am," she breathed out slowly, letting the words stumble out rather disjointedly. "How did you come to that conclusion anyway? You told me you had no idea just how different I was from regular Muggles – non-magic folk," she clarified.

"Bill, and other vampires, said that I'd been recently in contact with witches."

"But how do _they_ know?" Hermione asked, very intrigued.

As the question was posed, however, Sookie ostensibly shrunk back slightly. It was as if she was afraid what she would say next would be taken with great offence.

"They- they could _smell_ you...on me," she said hesitantly, looking as if there was a bitter taste in her mouth. She was undoubtedly recalling something disturbing from her conversation with those vampires.

"Oh," Hermione paused as she found herself lacking a response. What _did_ you say to something like that?

She was going to try to, nonetheless. "I, um, never knew vampires to be that rude-"

"Not all of them are," Sookie quickly defended.

"Sookie, I know you think Bill's a great guy," Hermione stated as kindly as possible. "But if he said that about me, I can't see myself liking him very much-"

"It's something about bad blood between witches and vampires," Sookie blurted out. "Even I'm not so sure that I get it. Eric seemed pretty intent on seeing you about it-"

"Wait, who's Eric?"

Just as Sookie made to answer, her pristine white door burst open. It hit the wall with such force that the pictures that were hung up shook upon impact. Jason Stackhouse, Sookie's brother that Hermione knew by sight but had never spoken to, stormed into the room in his fury, making his way directly to his sister and slapping her hard across the cheek.

"This is your fault," he declared menacingly, although with an undertone of distress. "Gran's dead because of you. You goin' about fuckin' vampires. IT'S ALL BECAUSE OF _YOU_!"

He was going to strike her again when Tara appeared at Sookie's bedroom door and savagely stopped him himself. Everything seemed to happen in a blur, with Tara screaming at him, Sookie remaining silent whilst clutching her reddening cheek, Hermione immobile in her place and Jason himself immediately looking remorseful for his actions. After a few intense moments, Tara shoved him out the door violently and slammed it in his face. She quickly ran to Sookie's side and inspected her face.

"Are you all right?" she asked frantically.

"Pass me the Valium," Sookie replied Tara a little too coolly. It was evident that she was only suppressing her urge to cry. With the little white pill between her index finger and thumb, she turned to Hermione. "Eric's the vampire Sheriff of Area 5 and owns Fangtasia. He really wants to meet you. I'll take you there-"

"Sookie," Hermione sighed. "Right now, you take care of yourself. We'll talk about this some other time."

"Can you at least stay?" Sookie pleaded. "I expect Bill would want to see you. I'm sure after all that's happened, he'd want to visit me to make sure I was all right. You two could have a chat about all this."

Her head had begun to nod stiffly continuously and it was beginning to seem like a coping mechanism. With her friends by her side, Sookie shakily placed the Valium pill on her tongue, feeling the bitterness sting her taste buds as she swallowed it whole. It didn't take her very long to drift off into the deepest sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** Now this is a chapter I'm nervous about because it introduces...something that basically makes this story the most AU it can go - AN ENTIRE NEW REASON WHY PEOPLE ARE DYING. Rene might still exist, and he might not, but there's something else lurking about in the bushes outside your home ;)

So it can actually be hit and miss after this one. And I'm sorry for not updating in awhile. 1) my laptop refuses to connect to the internet so I had to transfer files to my PC which took me forever because I couldn't find any portable hard drive, and 2) I'm focusing on writing a second fic simultaneously. It's completely different, it's in first person, and it's for the _Glee_ fandom :) I'm excited to do both stories, even though I know it's tough to actually write so much at the same time - I might mix up plots and all that, or I might just lose interest. Fingers crossed I'll be able to finish both!

As always, reviews are much appreciated if you can afford the time to leave them. I'd like to hear what you think, especially regarding such a precarious chapter! Thanks y'all :D


	9. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

"Glad I caught you before you left. I assume you're on your way to see Sookie. Mmm, I miss that girl."

"Eric, _what_ are you doing here?"

Bill's expression was fighting to stay neutral although this was proving to be a difficult task. Around someone like Eric, there were always mixed, pent-up feelings. As much as he wanted to drive a stake through Eric's dead heart, Bill knew that he could not. Eric was authority and what was more, killing a fellow vampire was considered a grave offence. Kind of like how humans murdering other humans was enough for a trial that almost always resulted in heavy punishment. It was the same principle.

"You're taking a long time delivering the girl," Eric drawled lazily. "The witch, I mean. I thought why not give you a little kick to hurry you up."

"I never promised you I would let you have her," Bill scoffed.

"I did not _request_ for you to bring the witch to me. It was a simple, _direct_ command."

"Is there any particular reason you want to see the girl _now_ though? This visit seems very unexpected and random, even for someone as erratic as you. I have not encountered her yet either. I do not know if she is a witch or not. Besides, I assume the only reason you want to meet her is to throw her out of the country anyway so I just did not bother."

"Circumstances have abruptly grown dire, Bill." Eric suddenly grew serious. "One of the humans that work in my bar, Ginger, has been mysteriously murdered. Muggle police were called in to investigate, but nothing of substance has been produced thus far. Or at least, they do not wish to divulge much with us. You know these humans, Bill, they're hypocrites. What they _are_ saying, though, is that the corpse was not at all harmed. Undoubtedly, they desire to pin it all on vampires, although I can assure, as with the murders your little town has been experiencing, that is not the case."

"You think this is the fault of a witch?" Bill questioned.

"Hm," Eric responded indifferently. "That was indeed my first impression. All the same, I remember that she has not stepped foot out of the borders of this very parish. I have my sources telling me so. Yet I will not rule out a magical being as the killer. It is too clean to be done by one of us. No matter how mainstream, vampires can't kill without leaving a body unmarked – the fresh blood is too tempting. The more I consider it, the more I think that whoever this witch is might be able to help us. As much as I do not favour joining forces with such creatures, it might be necessary in order to catch the culprit. What do you think of such a proposition?"

"I think it's actually diplomatic of you, Eric, I'm impressed," Bill smirked. "You are not letting prejudice cloud your judgement, so well done."

Eric's stoic face finally broke in a condescending grin back. "That's not the end of the story, my friend. It's amazing how you would not disagree to that proposal and yet I have a feeling you will at this next one. I would probably need your human's help in the matter too, if that's too much to ask."

"Sookie is _mine_."

Bill's fangs clicked out.

"As if I did not already know that. I saw you with her at the bar, and in fact you already told me so there and then. Hence I ask permission. I am your superior, so really, your consent is not necessary. I'm merely being polite."

"Do not try me, Eric."

"What are _you_ going to do about it, Billy-bob?" Eric laughed sardonically, his tone dangerously low. "Don't try _me_."

"What are we arguing about now, boys?" Pam butted in a bored voice. She had very quietly managed to slip onto Bill's front yard from wherever she had been previously. Neither vampire, however, even twitched at her sudden arrival.

"Sookie Stackhouse," Eric said after a pause.

"Ooh, I remember her," Pam mused. "Pretty girl. Entirely my type."

"She is _mine_, Pam."

"Bill is being selfish," Eric observed, entirely too full of himself. Pam simply cackled at Bill's indignity.

"Monogamy with humans is cute...and an utter waste of a perfectly good human," she grinned. "It's also a cause for concern, I believe."

"I will not help you if you continue to insult me this way," Bill replied stiffly.

"Honestly, do I even really need it?" Eric seemed to wonder aloud. Bill already had the sickest feeling in his gut that this was all simply staged for Eric's own enjoyment. "I can smell the witch from here even if your inexperienced senses cannot. I already know her location. Hm, so I wonder why I had to come all the way here when I could have just gone there instead."

"You need Sookie to let you in," Bill sneered.

"There are other ways. I could always get her to come out is one of them."

The seductive undertones in Eric's burr were too much for Bill.

"You go too far!"

"Touchy, touchy," Eric laughed. "I'll play nice. Promise."

He had to audacity to wink at Bill.

"In all candour, my sole purpose here is to ask your permission to let Sookie come with us."

"Just know that Sookie is not yours to decree," Bill made it very clear. "She will not work for you if she had a choice."

"In the end, it is not your choice either, Bill," Eric answered frankly and ethically. "If she is friends with the witch, she might wish to come along anyway. If she decides to, even you can't stop her without crossing the line yourself."

"I do not need lessons in humanity, least of all from you," Bill growled.

"Yeah, only it sounds like you need a course on anger management," Pam piped up. She clicked her teeth and shook her head at him in a mockingly disapproving way.

"Control your child, Eric!"

"Oh but I believe Pam's right," Eric agreed. "Lighten up a tad, will you Compton? So, shall we? Or are we going to spend the rest of our night fighting over something like this? I already gave you my word that I'd behave myself. Trouble is, will you?"

* * *

Night had seemed like an eternity away. It had finally fallen and Hermione couldn't have been more grateful. Finally, she could meet Bill. She anxiously sat on the living room couch, twisting the fabric of her dress between her fingers. Her entire day had been rather nerve-wracking, although not entirely on her own accord. Rather than sit around alone in her thoughts all, she'd decided it was best that she helped Lafayette and Tara clean the house up a little. The floorboards were basically immaculate, as were the kitchen counters, windows, and even the doorknobs had been polished so much it seemed like it would be perpetually shiny, but everybody just needed something to do while Sookie slept so as to avoid awkward moments between the three. Tara had heard Sookie's last request before she sunk into the clutches of slumber, and Hermione was very sure she would have mentioned it to Lafayette straight away given the chance. It wasn't because she intended to be nosy, it was simply due to the fact that Bon Temps had become like the Hellmouth from that TV series, _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. Weird and crazy shit just kept happening everywhere in the Renard Parish and it was getting immensely difficult to ignore it all.

Hermione had heard Lafayette and Tara conversing in low voices in the kitchen after she had finished sweeping the back patio sometime in the late afternoon. Instead of making her presence known, she'd stood against the wall outside and listened in.

"...Sookie said Bill would want to talk to her. I highly doubt he's even met her before, so what'd you think that's about? What could there possibly be for them to have a conversation over?"

"Hooker, it ain't your business."

"Sookie's my best friend, bitch. And Hermione's been workin' with me long enough for me to at least care about her like a long-distance pal too, all right?" Tara had retorted. "It's fucked up enough people want to associate with vampires and here they are, the people I happen to care about doin' the same fuckin' thing. Not that I'd expect you to understand – you go through friends as quickly as your underwear-"

"Don't push it, Tara," Lafayette had warned. "I understand your predicament, but honestly, you still needa lighten up."

Tara, inhaling deeply, had replied, "I just wanna know what's goin' on here. How come all the people I know seem to be a little fucked up in the head, that's all."

"That ain't no excuse and yous knows it."

"You can't pretend you don't think Hermione's a little weird too-"

That was enough. Hermione had interrupted at that point. She'd known it wasn't in Tara's intentions to be so hurtful – she was just looking out for her and Sookie – however that didn't give her any right to say such things about the two of them. They _were_ aware they were weird without others having to tell them about it, after all.

Finally, there was nothing left to be cleared, no countertop that needed further scrubbing and no glass ornament that had to be wiped down. The house was spotless and the three friends could do nothing except sit in different rooms by themselves. The sun went down in a morbidly beautiful way that day, slowly staining the sky an orangey-pink with hints of navy blue blotting the panorama. Hermione's heart was slowly starting to pound harder and harder at the mere thought of meeting her first vampire at dusk. Right then, the last remnants of sunlight had disappeared below the horizon and it was only a matter of time before she got her chance to.

She must have jumped ten feet in the air at the slightly sign of the doorbell ringing. She watched as Tara looked warily over at Lafayette before cautiously opening the door, taking her time in doing so.

"Bill," Tara greeted awkwardly.

"Tara," he nodded at her. From where she was perched on the sofa, Hermione caught a glimpse of him. She noticed that his skin was so white and yet it was not at the same time. He, bluntly put, looked _grey_. It was not particularly attractive, but Bill looked to her as though he had once been a handsome man, if not in a modern way.

"Who's the blondie?" Tara asked rather rudely.

"Excuse me?" a woman's voice languidly enquired.

"Wasn't talkin' to you, bitch-"

"Whoa, hooker," Lafayette interrupted. "Why dontcha go wake Sookie? I'll handle this."

"I can handle it-" Tara started.

"Tara," Hermione called out as she sped over to the door. "Go on. Lafayette and I have got this."

"There she is," an extremely tall blonde man – _vampire_ – next to Bill breathed in a low voice. Now that was the kind of vampire you would imagine from hearing all the details people tended to share after a long, drunken, _pleasurable_ night at a vampire bar. He spoke with a slight Scandinavian accent – _Swedish, perhaps, if I were to be precise,_ Hermione figured. He certainly _looked_ Scandinavian. He was a giant in height and his shoulders were broad. His features seemed cut sharply into his face in a distinct Nordic fashion. It was really difficult to appreciate how striking he was when he was staring at her as though she was the closest thing to heaven or something.

"So he _does_ talk," Tara deadpanned.

"_May we come in_?" Bill interjected pointedly, not letting Eric speak anymore.

"That's up to Sookie." Tara was having no problems making herself sound like the rudest, bitchiest woman anyone had ever come across. Her arms in akimbo, she stood with her weight on one leg, tapping her other foot intolerantly and scowling, frown lines imprinting her forehead deeply.

"We don't have to enter the domicile, Bill," Eric spoke up. "We discussed this prior to coming here. We're here for _her_."

He nodded at Hermione, whose eyes widened considerably at the statement. Words rose up in her throat but she couldn't get them out.

"What the _fuck_?" Tara and Lafayette exclaimed simultaneously.

Bill spun around and gave Eric a rather critical look. It clearly read, "Shut the fuck up, Northman, I'll handle this! Do you want to get what you want or not?"

"Uh uh," Tara exclaimed. "You motherfuckers may be vampires but you ain't steppin' foot in this house, much less takin' anybody out of it! Now get the fuck outta here!"

"Everybody seems to be in a terrible mood tonight," Pam observed, admiring her freshly manicured nails at the same time. Hermione had barely noticed her until then. Like Eric, despite the sheet-white paleness, she was a beautiful creature. She was holding as much interest in Hermione as him, though.

"I know!-" Eric was concurring in mock enthusiasm when Bill snarled, "Eric, please!"

"What's goin' on?" a sleepy voice asked at the top of the stairs. "Tara? Hermione? Lafayette said Bill was here."

Sookie sleepily descended the stairs and it was evident from Bill's expression that he longed for her to wear something more than just her night shirt in front of their current company. Eric's and Pam's fangs were extended from the mere sight of Sookie's bare legs.

"Sweetheart," Bill greeted.

"Bill," she responded groggily. Sookie's eyes turned towards the other two vampires on her front porch, though, and her face immediately darkened. "What are _they_ doin' here?"

"We wanted to see you," Eric cooed.

"Cut it out, Eric!" Bill retaliated. "Sookie, Eric and Pam took me by surprise tonight. I was just on my way here when they intercepted."

"Stop making this sound so much like an attack, William," Eric rolled his eyes. "Enough with the dramatics. Time is running out. As we stated ten minutes ago, we came for the witch. Bill wouldn't let us borrow you, Sookie – which is a real shame – but we're inviting you to come with us."

"What the hell are all of you talkin' about?" Tara shouted, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration. "Sookie, what are they sayin'? What _witch_?"

Her eyes darted from Sookie to Bill to Hermione to Eric and finally to Lafayette desperately.

"You wouldn't let them _borrow_ me, what the hell, Bill?" Sookie ignored Tara, and suddenly got very angry.

"I will not let you put yourself in such a predicament, Sookie!" Bill reprimanded. "Working for Eric isn't all he might crack it up to be! He will be the root of all your troubles from now on."

"As if I couldn't figure that out for myself, thanks!" Sookie snapped. "I'm blonde, but I'm not stupid. Neither am I gonna let Hermione go on her own."

"Who said I was going anywhere?" Hermione blurted out irately, finally finding her voice. "I'm not, least of all with you people."

She glared at Eric with her arms crossed in front of her chest, only to have him laugh at her attempts. She figured she must only look like a meagre child and mentally kicked herself.

"Aww," he said contemptuously, flashing his fangs her way. "It's the _law_, princess. Bon Temps in its entirety is under my rule as Sheriff of Area 5. You hold no weight in this town, darling."

Realisation dawned on Sookie as she realised that Eric was insufferably right. She could tell that her facial features must have displayed some sort of disheartening expression from Hermione's old worried look. She quickly turned to face Eric instead, her eyes fiery with loathing. "Then I'm coming too."

"Excellent," Eric leered. "Best of both worlds indeed. Of course there's no stopping William coming with us now either, then. He's going to want to 'protect' you. It's settled. Let it be written."

Hermione felt her muscles rapidly seize up. She didn't want to show the ultimate form of weakness and break down completely but at this point, there was nothing else that registered in her mind to do. They were going to take her against her will! Images of being held captive in the Malfoy Mansion years earlier flooded her mind. She'd had nightmares for weeks after the gruesome torture Bellatrix Lestrange had put her through with the Cruciatus Curse.

Hermione couldn't find any control over herself at that point – she hardly realised that tears had spilled from her eyes in all her stress and were flowing buckets down her cheeks. She was hyperventilating and Sookie had to hold her steady.

"You're a monster, Eric Northman," she spat at him.

"Oh dear lord," Pam remarked, clearly disgusted. "Humans and their emotions. Part of me wants to be able to experience it all again."

"You have got to be joking, Pam," Eric commented heartlessly. He stood gazing at the little spectacle of a sobbing Hermione for a few moments before turning to Bill, "You're driving them. Bring them to my nest. It's around five miles south of Fangtasia. If not tonight then get them there as soon as possible."

He spun on his heel and headed out on the open lawn, Pam at his heels.

"So you expect us to go without knowing anything of your plans, Eric?" Bill bellowed after the pair.

The Viking said nothing. Instead, when Pam had her arm securely wrapped around Eric's, he tipped his head towards the company at Sookie's front door before jetting up into the air, flying back to Shreveport.

* * *

"Two gin and tonics," Ginny called over the bar counter. There was no one there, so she had to shout over the loud music. She caught Ron's unmistakable expression of repulsion and kicked him below the bar stool.

"Will you please try to act a little more normal Ron? I'm sorry if they don't have Butterbeer or Firewhisky here!" she hissed.

"It wasn't because you ordered those. It's just... _look around you_," Ron's voice lowered as he added the last three words.

Well, now Ginny was the one stumped for words. This was the first time both had ever been in a vampire bar. The walls were pure blood red with minimal black stripes across certain sections. Provocative and sometimes obscene vampire artwork was sparsely displayed, as well several metal hangings – gold and bronze but no silver. Vampire dancers were whizzing steps on tables and the main stage, with most human companions gaping open-mouthed in awe of being in the presence of such beautiful – in their terms – creatures. Once or twice, an extraordinarily pale creature with a fawning human would approach the bar and offer to buy either Ginny or Ron a drink, although both of them had passed up those opportunities. This was all way too new for them and they had no clue how to handle it.

"Well, this is the biggest vampire bar in New Orleans, so now we can actually get around and asking people questions. Hermione would have already-"

"Excuse me," the bartender. "We're going to need you two to leave."

His fangs had extended menacingly and Ron begun whimpering.

"We're paying customers, and we just got here," Ginny attempted.

"Witches and wizards are _not_ welcome," a deeper, more resonant tone rumbled behind the pair. It was a bouncer.

Ron quickly gripped his sister's arm protectively. However, it was obvious in his perturbed gaze as realisation dawned on him. Several things were actually running through his mind at that point. Firstly, he was going to have to kill Shacklebolt. He was Minister for Magic, if he didn't know there was bad blood between vampires and the wizarding world nobody would! Secondly, there was no guarantee Hermione was all right now. They probably had her at this very minute, torturing and mutilating her...

"Funny," another man – vampire – appeared behind the bartender. "People tell me that Renard Parish's been entertaining witches these days. And now here we have some too. Rather unexpected series of events, don't you think?"

"Ben, you've been feeding on too many children, I think," the bartender sniggered. "And kittens. We all know your secret fetish, pal."

"I'm not making this up! It's what the current topic of interest is, for your information!"

"Wait, what?" Ron's voice came out hoarse, as though unused for years. "What's Bon Temps?"

"Little town further up north," the vampire Ben said indolently. "They say it's a Hellmouth. Which is utter bullshit."

"W-why's that?"

"New Orleans is _the_ Mecca, stupid boy! That's as good as the Hellmouth!"

Clearly, everybody felt very strongly about this Hellmouth business. _Whatever the hell that means_, Ron thought.

"How long does it take to get to this town?" Ginny spoke up.

"Why's it a concern to you?"

"If you must know, we're looking for a friend of ours-"

"The witch? It's a rumour Benny is spouting! Not that you would know that. But know for sure your kind isn't welcome in _here_ anymore."

"All the more reason to get out, right?" Ginny challenged. Ron was in awe of his sister's courage at this point. These demons could suck the blood out of her if they wanted to. He could tell, though, from her monstrous grip on his hand that she too felt a little disconcerted. "Just give us the directions and we'll be out of your hair."

"I think not," Ben replied threateningly. "You guys should just get the fuck out of here before we have you thrown out. We don't tolerate your kind. Don't push our buttons."

The bouncer had bone-crushingly gripped Ron by his shoulder and the latter whimpered slightly in pain.

"Okay, okay, we'll go," Ginny snapped, huffily gathering her purse and attempting to pry the bouncer's hand from her brother. They did not need to be told twice.


	10. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

Eric's home was, in Hermione's opinion, not as unsavoury as she was led to believe. Of course, neither Sookie nor Bill had ever had the misfortune (or fortune depending on how one looked at it) to visit Eric outside of work, Hermione was told, but they had very bleak outlooks towards anything of his taste. While not equivalent to a mansion, Eric certainly had a large home. Its facade was an off-white brick with ebony windows and a matching set of double doors as the front entrance. His gardens were well-kept, with neatly trimmed hedges and rosebushes. The colour of those flowers was a deep crimson and it was the only reminder to Hermione that this admittedly beautiful house belonged to, frankly, a monster of a man. Vampire. She never really knew whether "man" was an appropriate term for such a being, truth be told.

A butler answered the door – a young man no older than twenty-five would be Hermione's guess, and human. _Typical_, she thought. The interior itself was surprisingly homely. It reminded Hermione greatly of the Gryffindor common room. Sure, the blood-red walls and too-dim lighting were a tad disconcerting, but everything else was relatively normal-looking. The human butler led Hermione, Sookie and Bill around on a mini tour of the ground level of the house. An interesting discovery was that Eric even had a kitchen. This was a fact Hermione couldn't really figure out. _Why would he _need_ one?_ she had wondered when she strolled past it. Well, considering how showy the Viking was, it really should not surprise her that much that he'd want something to "complete" his home with. Something superfluous and unnecessary.

Eric was still at Fangtasia when the three arrived that evening – two nights after Eric's untimely visit to the Stackhouses' farmhouse – so the butler let them sit in the very large living area. He served them drinks – A-negative synthetic blood for Bill and Cokes for the ladies – in a gesture of politeness and left them alone. They could hear him banging around down the vast corridor, probably trying to move their bags upstairs.

"Well this is certainly a surprise," Bill commented once the noises had died down.

"Yeah," Sookie appeared to agree. "I can't believe Eric only has _one_ butler. The poor man, having to work for him, too."

"That wasn't exactly what I was talking about, but you have a point," Bill chuckled. "It's just... for as long as I've known Eric, this is the first time I've stepped into his home and I never expected it to be this...appropriate."

"Considering how he keeps his income up by running a sex-driven vampire bar," Sookie added, "this _is_ quite a shock. _I'd_ never figured it to be this nice either."

"How old is he?" Hermione questioned, not looking at either of her friends as she played with the straw in her Coke can.

"Eric? Over a thousand years old," Bill replied briefly.

Hermione remained rather silent after that, except for the occasional clinking of glass against the coffee table and some soft sips here and there. She was sinking into her own thoughts without any desire to participate in what Bill and Sookie were discussing.

Such an abode was indeed a drastic and probably much needed change in Hermione's suddenly stagnant and monotonous existence in her poky Bon Temps apartment. It was much more comfortable – even the sofa she was perched on was of fine plush black velvet. What was more, the magnificent house aside, Shreveport was an actual city, one she might be permitted to explore if she did as she was told, according to Bill. If she could escape the fact that she was about to be used as a tool of God knows what by a bloodthirsty, bigoted thousand-year-old vampire, this could be treated as a sort of ideal holiday.

Naturally, she would not admit any of this to her "captors" – as she had begun secretly calling Eric and Pam. It would be just too good for their largely inflated egos.

"How long does he expect me to do this?" she wanted to know. "Whatever 'this' is."

"This answer will not please you," Bill sighed. "But as long as it takes."

"I could always refuse to cooperate."

"Eric will find a way to use you one way or another," Bill said gravely. "Especially so because we're in his house, in his jurisdiction. He can do anything to us. Trust me, someone as vicious as Eric gets what he wants and is not afraid of sacrifice to do it."

"Bill!" Sookie scolded. "You're probably freakin' her out, cut it out!"

"It's okay, Sookie," Hermione reassured, although her eyes remained hard and cold like black linoleum. "I'm over the initial shock from before I came here. I'll do whatever the hell he wants if it gets us back to Bon Temps."

"Better not let Eric hear you say that," Sookie warned. "He'll twist your words around so much you wouldn't know your rights from your lefts. I don't know him and even I can tell that."

"Sookie's right," Bill offered. "Don't do anything to encourage him either."

There was a palpable pause here.

"You two are a hypocritical bunch, you know that?" Hermione snapped irritably. "Just shut up and let me decide what to do with myself for once!"

With that, she was on her feet and marching off down the hallway, in desperate need to cool off from her minor blow-up.

Hermione ended up outside on the front patio, taking in the grassy air in swift, deep breaths. She started to focus on the sounds of her inhales and exhales, slowly calming herself down. Opening her eyes, she began to gaze up into the night sky. It was a clear night, and given that the house was away from the hustle and bustle of downtown Shreveport, the stars were visible. They sparkled and winked at her almost condescendingly and she felt her heart rate speed up again and her blood begin to boil. It was then that she noticed an amorphous white shape seemingly rocketing down towards her.

"Oh great, perfect timing, Minister," she grumbled under her breath. "As if your information's of any use to me now."

Truly, it was Shacklebolt's Patronus reply to Hermione's plea days – maybe even a week – ago. Hermione extracted her wand from her jeans pocket, catching the Patronus as it fell from the sky.

She contemplated listening to the message inside. Already the little bauble of white was shuddering on her wand tip, begging to be heard. In her frustration, however, Hermione simply extended her arm backwards and flung the white shape back into the sky. It was only when it happened that she realised what a critical mistake she had almost certainly made and felt like crying all over again.

"Oh God, why is this happening to me?" she whispered as she sank into a squatting position, hands in her tousled hair and face towards the ground. Soon enough, her squat became a sit and she wrapped her arms around her knees tightly, as though trying to encompass herself in an impenetrable ball-

"What on earth are you doing, witch?" Eric's sharp voice cut through Hermione's thoughts.

She felt her hands ball up and had to resist standing up and punching something, be it him or the pillar next to her. She did not bother to respond and as time stretched in silence, it was evident Eric was getting slightly angry.

"Thinking of running away?" he continued, although with what seemed to be like an ounce more of a conscience.

Still, Hermione said nothing.

In a split second, Eric's face was an inch from hers and she had to push herself backwards to avoid coming into direct contact with him. The expression she bore was that of absolute revulsion, aggravation and unadulterated shock. He was looking at her expressionlessly and he opened his mouth to speak.

She clearly saw his lips moving but she could not hear him. His fangs had extended from – where _did_ he keep them? Hermione found herself wondering that absentmindedly. Her brain felt foggy with tiredness and she was unable to pull focus from anything except visuals. She found herself looking over him, her irritation at his sudden intrusion of her personal space melting away. From her close proximity to him, Hermione realised a few things.

His skin _glowed_ ever so slightly. It was likely that Bill glowed too, although it was so subtle she hardly noticed it. It was more like a slight sheen under Eric's deathly pale skin rather than like a candle in a jack-o-lantern, though. It wasn't garish or disgusting. He certainly didn't glitter too prominently and it was peculiarly attractive. He had extremely gorgeous _eyes _too. Funny how she hadn't noticed those the night they met. It was the oddest thing, but those blue gems – colour of the lightest sky – were piercing and painful to look at and yet the deepest Hermione had ever come across. Was it the age that gave him such an intense yet knowing gaze? She began to speculate whether Eric had had such beautiful eyes even while alive. Thirdly and lastly, _it was as though_ _he had no breath_...

He was looking at her differently now. It was a mixture of a little bemusement and irritation. Was that amusement tossed in the bundle too?

"Are you retarded or something?" he asked bluntly, although he did not sound condescending or mean. It seemed genuinely concerned, and it was for that reason that Hermione began to feel insulted anyway.

"What?" she asked in disbelief.

"_Are you retarded_?"

"No, I heard you the first time!" she exclaimed indignantly. God, he really knew how to grate her nerves. "Why'd you call me that for?"

"I asked if you understood what I just told you and all you did was stare at me," Eric responded, shrugging. Couldn't he back away from her now?

"I-I-I heard you," Hermione heard herself as she stumbled over her words, a slightly blush creeping over her face. She realised that the fact that she was distracted by attraction she felt towards Eric was not something she could viably put out so freely as a reason to why she hadn't be listening attentively to whatever he had spouted.

_Maybe I'm having really rapid Stockholm Syndrome,_ she tried to reassure herself, even though that fact was not a very savoury one. _First his house, then him. Right._

"Sure you did," Eric rolled his eyes – _great, stop drawing so much attention to them!_ Hermione thought – and in one rapid movement, pulled her to her feet. She had stood up so abruptly that it felt like the wind was knocked out of her and she nearly lost her balance again. Her arms flailed around for a few moments before strong arms gripped either of her hands, helping her steady herself. Merlin, he was _cold_. Well, considering he was dead and all "cold" should really be an understatement. Hermione's own daintier fingers wrapped tightly around Eric's palms in a reflexive motion. She was utterly relieved when she finally stopped swaying on the spot in her own strange giddiness.

"Why were you crying?" he startled her by asking. No pretence again, it was a legitimate query.

All the same, it caused Hermione to snap out of a little reverie she was having – she was still too drawn to his eyes to pay much attention – and snatched her hands back.

"You shouldn't be asking me that. It's your fault and you know it," she huffed softly, crossing her arms over her chest and purposely looking at the landscape behind him. _Don't get distracted._

"Yes, and asking you to come along nicely would have made _much_ difference," Eric scoffed sarcastically. "It would have been a waste of time. Come on inside, it's cold out tonight."

"I'm fine."

"You're shivering."

"I said I'm fine. I just need some air and time alone, or am I not even allowed to have that?"

Her voice was quivering.

Something warm was being draped over her shoulders. It was heavy and Hermione had to grip it quickly to prevent it from sliding off her body. Leather. She heard the front doors close behind her and Eric's footsteps recede into the house. Voices could be heard beyond the walls as the help greeted their master's return.

He had put his jacket on her. It was so big that it adorned her formlessly and hung like a dress. Hermione sat herself back down on the front steps, retreating into herself. By instinct, she brought the material up to her nose. It was a tactic she'd always used to calm herself down – scent. Some scents comforted her so much that she could be calm as a baby sound asleep. Slowly, she inhaled deeply, hoping to capture some sense of humanity in that small gesture of kindness.

Eric had no discernible scent. Not a whiff. If he wore cologne, the smell didn't even linger on his clothes.

Hermione felt her bottom lip tremble more severely than before as she let her tears flow freely. She roughly pushed the jacket off her shoulders and wrapped her arms around herself again as she closed her eyes. Her body wracked with suppressed sobs and she crumpled to the floor, feeling for the first time in a long time like she was letting all her loneliness show.

* * *

The next time she awoke, she was snug in bed. She couldn't ever remember waking up in the middle of the night to find a room to go to bed in so she supposed someone had carried her in. Then again, she had no idea where her quarters were in the first place.

Someone had bothered to get her out of her day clothes and slip a nightgown over her. Even her underwear had been removed. She could only hope a fellow woman did that. Hermione sat up and leaned against her gigantic fluffy pillow. She took a good look at her surroundings, drinking in the richness of the room she was given. Feeling a little silly, she pinched herself hard on the wrist to make sure she wasn't in some kind of dream. The walls were made of chestnut panels, as were the polished floors. There was a smouldering fireplace beyond the foot of her bed, with a gigantic Balinese rug in front of the mantelpiece. She had been given a desk in one corner of the room, and there was a loveseat set on the other end. This was something like what she'd picture a Head Girl room to look like at Hogwarts. She was sadly never given the privilege to hold that title, although she could hardly regret it now after all she had been through already.

The room was nicely warm so getting out of bed was no laborious task. Hermione found a silk robe sitting over the arm of one of the loveseats and put it on, walking towards the shuttered windows. She carefully cracked them to allow a tiny bit of light into her room when she realised it was still dark out. What? What time was it? She checked the clock and noticed that it was four-fifteen. The sun wasn't due to rise for at least another hour and forty-five minutes.

She did not really feel ready to face anybody just yet, not after her little explosive conversations with Sookie, Bill _and_ Eric. She had probably behaved like a petulant child around them instead of the grown woman she should be and she felt rather ashamed. The wonders a good few hours of sleep could do for one's mental clarity.

Her stomach rumbled in a rather unladylike fashion. Hermione hadn't really eaten anything ever since Eric's visit to Sookie's home, and that was slightly over two days ago. Foregoing food any longer could not be good for her, so she decided that she had no choice but to creep downstairs, hoping nobody was around so she could sneak some food.

The corridor was lit by candles and had extravagant portraits lining either wall encasing the hallway. More Hogwarts similarities, Hermione noted. She also passed by a couple of statues carved out of marble. Yes, Eric had money although she would not have figured him to be an art connoisseur. _Then again_, she thought, _I don't know a lot about him._ She surprised herself by thinking that she would like to.

It took a little bit of manoeuvring before Hermione found a large staircase downstairs. She trotted down quickly and found herself back at the atrium of the ground floor. She retraced her steps until she found the kitchen again and was quite surprised that Eric was there. She stood quietly for a minute, almost praying that he had not seen her. He was at the dining table, his back to the entrance.

"I heard you open your door," he said quietly, swivelling in his seat to look at her. Hermione unconsciously wrapped her robe tighter around herself under his unfazed gape. Although this time, he wasn't trying to make a point or an impression on her. He actually appeared somewhat human when he looked at her. She could be just imagining it, but did he look tired?

"You know you can come in," he said after awhile. "Nothing to be scared of."

_Yeah right._

However, as if her feet operated by his commands, Hermione strode to the dining table. There she found a large assortment of newspaper clippings and pieces of paper arranged in what seemed to be a certain chronological order.

"What's this?" she squeaked. _Way to be in control of yourself, Granger_, she thought.

"Notes," Eric sighed. So it wasn't mind games. He even _sounded_ weary. "All the murders, both in Shreveport and Bon Temps. I can only hope nothing happens in the other towns under Area 5 if not my plate will only get fuller and more unmanageable than it already is. And the authorities would try to rip me of my position-"

Eric was interrupted by the gurgling coming from Hermione's stomach. He gave her a little sideways look. She blushed.

"You could have told me you hadn't eaten," he remarked, even laughing slightly.

She didn't even bother to reply this time.

Eric seemed to purse his lips in order to avoid laughing at her too much. He marched over to his gigantic refrigerator and opened the door, revealing shelves fully stocked with all kinds of food from packaged meats to cheese. Milk. Vegetables. He even kept his bread in there. His freezer was stuffed with frozen foods, ice-cream and little ice cube makers, that final item the only justifiable thing in the appliance. Hermione gave him a little bit of a bewildered look.

Eric made a further point by opening his pantries filled with dry goods like cereals, canned items, potato chips and tinned biscuits.

"I get a lot of humans in my home," he put it simply. "You people seem to always be hungry, so I try to keep a fresh stock. Take your pick, don't make a mess though."

Hermione felt lazy to cook – it was four in the morning – so she retrieved the large biscuit tin (it was still full, she noticed) from one of the pantries and tucked in.

Neither of them spoke.

"Why am I here, exactly?" Hermione wanted to know between bites.

Eric pinched the bridge of his nose slightly. "Simple. I need your help in apprehending this killer that's been going around murdering these girls so as to get the police off the vampires' backs."

"But why _me_?"

"Because you're lucky, I guess," Eric shrugged. "If it were some other witch or wizard I would have asked them to do it and not you. You just happen to be in the area and it saves me trouble in having to contact other people."

"Like who?"

"Jesus, you ask a lot of questions. The Vampire Queen of Louisiana, if you must know. I would have needed her approval to send for authorised help. Having you cuts corners, and costs that I am a bit too stingy to pay. You have no idea how grateful I am to have you here."

"So it's basically to save your skin," Hermione concluded carelessly. Luckily, Eric didn't seem to take any offence. In fact, he even looked at her with a slight playfulness dancing in his eyes.

"You could put it that way," he agreed.

"How do you know I won't ask for payment?"

"Well, then speak up if you want something in return. If not I'll just assume you work for free." At this, Eric cocked his head up from his papers again and gave Hermione a small wink and flashed her a smirk. She could feel her stomach flutter.

"Just know you shouldn't just assume that," she replied haughtily. "I'll get back to you on that though."

"_Sure_ you would."

Both parties lapsed into silence after that, although it wasn't the kind of quiet that was uncomfortable and overpowering.

"Do you need any help now?" she offered softly.

"Not really, we should deal with this tomorrow when I am wide awake," Eric yawned. "It's almost sunrise and my body won't hold up well even if I am sheltered. Vampires get ill if we stay up during the day."

"Oh, okay," Hermione conceded distractedly. She was surprised he was yawning. Exactly _what_ did she think of vampires? That they were truly relieved of bodily functions or something?

_The former,_ she sheepishly thought.

After eating half the tin of biscuits, Hermione finally felt filled up enough. She put the canister back into the pantry before leaving Eric alone. He scarcely baulked as she did.

He _did_ call after her, though. "Good day."

"Good day," she murmured back. Again, a tad confusing to say "good day" to a person who seemed to be going to bed.

This was so surreal, having a decent conversation with a vampire, let alone _this_ vampire. On the one hand, Hermione wondered if Eric was simply being nice to her to get her to do whatever he wanted. Yet, on the other hand, he seemed to be hospitable to her out of his own benevolence. How almost-human of him. Beyond doubt though, it was so difficult to tell. Hermione shut the door to her room behind her and plopped on her bed yet again, a million and one things intriguing her about her elusive subjugator – no, she hadn't relinquished her tendency to call him that yet. Just before she drifted back into unbroken sleep, the last thing on her mind was that she was going to have to converse with him more to find it all out. She _had_ to find it all out.

* * *

**A/N:** Before people ask, I sort of got the "no scent" idea from the book (there's a film too) Perfume. It's a fantastic piece of literature. That I highly recommend. Sorry for the long wait for this chapter too. I've been having a real dry spell with inspiration to continue so I drag it all out. Your feedback, as always, is greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading!


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

"So what commonalities are we aware of?" Eric boomed as he sauntered into his dining room the following night, startling Sookie and Hermione who were in the middle of small talk with each other. Nobody had expected him to be this early – it was only a quarter past one. Bill, upon hearing Eric arrive, started taking a rather protective stance with his arm around the back of Sookie's dining chair. Hermione expected that, and couldn't help but feel a tad unarmed.

There was some stretched silence amongst the foursome, not that they were trying to come up with any similarities. It was that nobody knew how to begin the discussion.

"Well," Bill started. "All the victims have all been in contact with vampires in one way or another, supposedly at _your_ bar."

"Very good, Bill," Eric sneered. "I'll throw you a bone."

"Eric-"

"Relax, I was only teasing. That information is valuable, yes. Anything else, though, that isn't as _predictable_?"

Boy, could Eric be a condescending son of a bitch. Of course, Bill wasn't exactly being very tactful anyway, given his obvious contempt for the Viking. Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes.

Sookie decided to speak up. "They were all females in their mid-twenties. Dani was the only one who had a kid, Dawn and Maudette were kind of free meat to many men, I didn't know Becca all that well – not as much as Arlene did anyway, um..."

She was rattling off all the information she could recall. Eric was staring at her with utter perplexity and some amusement.

"Bill, stop her yapping."

Clearly offended by this, Sookie exclaimed, "_Excuse_ me, Eric Northman, I am not-"

"Sookie," Bill said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Calm down."

"Well, sorry if I chatter under stress," Sookie pouted. "It's not my fault..."

"Don't be anxious, we're all like family in this nest," Eric goaded, grinning like the world's most satisfied sadist. "I personally do not do well under stress myself. You know what gets me by? Country music. Not that silly pop garbage floating around, but the real deal – you know, rodeo music?"

His words only made Bill gnash his teeth. Hermione could vaguely imagine his fangs were blunted by the sheer force of Bill's locked jaw. She personally found the scenario pretty darn hilarious, though she could not bring herself to burst out laughing. Eric and country music? That was just not an option, ever.

"All right, all right, when we're done with the make-fun-of-Sookie club, can we get back to the topic here?" Sookie snapped, glaring at the Viking. "Anything else we know about the deaths? Hermione, you've said nothin'. Go on. I'm sure you have somethin' we haven't mentioned."

"Indeed-"

"Eric, just shut the fuck up and let her talk!" Sookie barked. She turned to Hermione in a more gentle way. "Go on, sweetie."

"Well, this might be pertinent. They all seemed to kind of died of...fright," Hermione offered.

"_What_?" Bill and Sookie asked simultaneously.

"What did you say?" Eric breathed softly. A little light bulb had seemingly clicked on in his (_dead_, Hermione thought) brain.

"I..." she hesitated. Perhaps she shouldn't have told them.

"Say it," Eric encouraged. His tone was hard to place. Somewhere between persuasion and pure force seemed an appropriate classification, if ever such a combination existed. "This would be the perfect time to point out that there will be no secrets within my nest."

Sookie gripped Hermione's hand and looked at her receptively.

"It's okay. What made you say they were scared to death?"

"I...took a look at one of the bodies – Dawn's – and overheard Dearborne talk about one on my first day in Bon Temps – I think they were discussing Dani's death," Hermione finally confessed, more to Sookie than to the vampires. Both Bill and Eric were watching her with alarming attention.

"Wait, how did you manage-?"

"Let's hold up for a minute, Sookie, we should clarify something else first," Bill interrupted. "You sound like you know what dying of 'fright' should exactly entail."

"She is talking about the Avada Kedavra," Eric spoke up, his voice barely audible. "It makes perfect sense, yes..."

"You know about it?" Hermione asked, astounded.

"I have witnessed it used a total of three times in my life," Eric murmured absently, strolling to the other end of the kitchen to stare out the window into the moonlight. "Twice after I was turned. However ever since moving to the States such ancient magic has ceased. Then again, I made it a point to avoid witches and wizards in general, so I suppose my judgement is not a very accurate one."

"But what _is_ it?" Sookie wanted to know.

"It's a spell," Hermione replied. "More specifically a curse. It's one of the three Unforgivable Curses – the incantation kills you."

"And you've seen it used?" Bill asked Eric incredulously. "I've read about it myself. It just seems like pure myth."

"It is something to be sceptical about indeed," Eric agreed. "A flash of green light being able to kill someone. It's _too_ clean."

He seemed to eye Hermione with a sense of caution and suspicion if only for a fraction of a second. Their eyes met and she shook her head slightly in a defensive position. Hermione had no real inclination why she would care at all if Eric thought her dangerous – wasn't that _good_? He would leave her alone then.

"So let me get this straight," Sookie said. She was obviously having a very hard time digesting this information. "A witch or wizard could point a stick at you, say those words and kill you without leavin' a mark on your body?"

"You have to mean what you say. You have to really want to kill someone or have the sick pleasure of doing it," Hermione whispered. "But otherwise, yes. That's about right."

"Shut _up_," Sookie gasped, her visage going significantly paler. "Nothing stops it?"

"The curse can be deflected," Hermione answered. "Or you can simply dodge it. But we still don't know for sure if the Unforgivable Curse was used."

"It's utterly convenient," Eric murmured thoughtfully. "Too convenient then. Since nothing can be proved at all, the police and the media will cook up some story, no doubt targeting the vampires. I keep wondering why we came out in the first place."

"Wait, we should consider every angle before we even think about all of this," Sookie exclaimed. "Why would a witch or wizard want to do this to innocent people?"

"Too many reasons," Bill spoke up. "Personal issues, vendettas with them... maybe these people insulted one and whoever this magical being is got a little out of control. I don't think 'why' is the principle here, though, sweetheart."

"It isn't – not in these criminal matters anyway," Hermione could not help but sound defensive again. "Besides, all those assumptions about wizards killing the women? They're as good as obsolete information. The wizarding community has only ever striven to live in peace with the Muggles. We have treaties signed with the Muggle Prime Ministers, and thus these authority members keep our identities hidden. Only an utterly insane individual would want to risk that kind of harmonious relationship. And definitely no one under the Ministry."

"That sounds like a propaganda speech handed over by some authoritarian leader of sorts. I take it Muggle-Magic relations is your area of expertise within your workplace?" Eric enquired, finally taking a seat. She despised it whenever he stared at her with an indecipherable expression. The worst part was that no matter how indistinguishable his features locked into he always seemed to be interrogating her anyway. Forcefully and unrelentingly.

"No it isn't. It's my friend Ron's position," Hermione blurted out without thinking. Ron...

_All right, do not think about him,_ she thought in a panic. _He isn't worth it anymore, just stop this before the water works come on!_

"Excuse me," Eric's butler – whose name Hermione still did not know – politely interrupted the meeting. "Telephone call for you, Mister Northman."

"Thank you, Vladimir," Eric responded as he rose to his full height yet again. "I'll be back in a bit, kids."

Bill was visibly rolling his eyes in frustration. Sookie sighed and sat back quietly into the sofa. Her grip on Hermione's hand had loosened considerably.

It was like Hermione's thoughts and memories had become a raging ocean, with crests so high and troughs so deep that they were engulfing her. She couldn't remember the last time she even said Ron's _name_. It hurt too much, so she had kept it away in a little box at the very back of her heart and mind. In it were all the dusty roses, the crumpled letters, the unsaid apologies, Ginny's comfort, that now dreadful scent of parchment and fresh grass...everything from the past few years.

Hermione was suddenly curious. Amortentia was not an easy potion to concoct, but she had done it twice before anyway, so it was not too big a problem for her. Asking around for magical ingredients would be difficult – infiltration of the black market might be required after the United States government shut out the Ministry of Magic, intending to take matters into their own hands concerning the magical community. However she had to know: had the scent in that beautiful pearlescent brew changed? She couldn't still be attracted to Ron, not after what he had done. She had to-

"New Orleans tells me they have sighted a witch and a wizard," Eric called out as he ambled back into the kitchen. He did not sound surprised.

"Why would they tell _you_ of all people?" Sookie questioned.

"They're putting out an alert to the whole of Louisiana," Eric answered indifferently. "The Straitjacket bar in New Orleans reported having thrown out a witch and a wizard looking for a way to get to Bon Temps."

Eric looked pointedly at Hermione for a second.

"I can't imagine why."

"You're thinking I have something to do with this."

"Sending for backup perhaps?" He was angry, Hermione realised.

"I have not been in contact with anybody from the magical world ever since I got here!" Hermione exclaimed. Of course, she could cover up sending her Patronus to Shacklebolt. It's not as if she technically received a reply anyway.

It took her several seconds to calm herself down. "Did your correspondents say anything about who these magical folk were?" she asked softly. "Appearance? Names maybe?"

"Pale freckled red-heads was all I got," Eric replied quickly. "Nobody asked for their names."

Ron and Ginny? Hermione gulped. _No one knows for sure_, she tried to comfort herself.

Eric continued, "Presumably, they're on their way to Renard Parish right now. I'm putting some border security out to get them. This is only a precautionary measure; I'm just pulling out all the stops here," he reassured Hermione before she could protest. "Still I'm not risking them running around causing more havoc than I daresay I want caused. I'm taking proper procedure, if not the Queen will stake me."

"What will you do with them?" Hermione asked, a sinking feeling finding its way into the pits of her stomach. She felt slightly nauseous.

"That should not be our concern at the moment," Eric answered. "We have to keep a one-track mind on these murders. You were saying the Avada Kedavra could have done it."

"Could have, but not I'm not certain of it. As far as we know, there are plenty of other forces at play here."

"Like what?" Eric challenged.

"How the hell do you expect me to know?" Hermione cried out in response. Both of them seemed to forget that Bill and Sookie were sitting right there, staring at the arguing pair.

"Ever since you got here, murders have escalated. They've left Bon Temps and arrived here of all places."

Eric didn't even need to raise his voice to make a point.

"Are you suggesting that I'm some sort of decoy?" Hermione scoffed. "That I'm only here to lure you vampires out? I have no interest in using you as bait of any kind in witch-burning trials-"

Eric was about to interrupt but he paused to look at her long and hard.

"You know the history," he stated bluntly and...in a tone of surprise.

"Oh so you think I can't be well-informed, do you?" Hermione replied indignantly. "I went to look it up. I very well know you vampires _hate_ our guts, okay? So you can throw all your false hospitality out the fucking window. How do I know you asking me to help is merely turning me over to some sort of police force?"

"I've gone through this," Eric growled behind gritted teeth. "I do genuinely need your help hence I actually welcome you into my home. And this isn't about anything except those two magical beings on their way here, is it? Read my lips. These magical friends of yours do nothing for me. I do not feel obliged to keep them as my guests-"

"-But as prisoners you'll receive them with open arms." Hermione shook her head slowly. "I can't believe you."

"Why do you care so much as to what I do with these people?"

"For your information, the description you gave me happens to fit that of two of my friends," Hermione said frigidly. "It's a real fucking long shot, but if I find out that they are who I speculate them to be, and you lock them up, you will be sorry, Eric. I don't care who you are in this area of Louisiana. _You will be sorry_. Don't underestimate me."

Without another word, Hermione screeched her chair backwards and stormed out of the dining room upstairs.

* * *

Calling on her would not be wise. She needed some space to herself for her to calm down. However, she intrigued him so much. Hermione had only been in his abode for a couple of days but her presence there was _different_. No, it wasn't her witchcraft entirely. _She_ was a different breed of girl that he was used to.

A lot like Sookie – headstrong and independent. Well, Sookie had Bill now, so some of that liberty was bound to filter away soon enough. Hermione was clearly alone in something. He could see it in her eyes. He could identify with that. Despite having Pam, the bar, women falling all over him and begging him to bite them, ravish them, pleasure them...to say it wasn't enough would sound ungrateful. Then again, at over a thousand, one had very little to be surprised and grateful about. He had been dead a long time. He just didn't care for much. Nothing excited him or intrigued him anymore. Until her.

Her scent was changing around him. It was becoming something more neutral. He saw his own prejudice melting away. Counting memories one by one – this took awhile, for he had a vast multitude of them – his only other contact with witches and wizards had been when he witnessed them kill in the harsh battlefield – when his Maker Godric was still showing him the ways of being a dead man walking. Then he'd read about the medieval witch burnings and his hatred for them grew. Godric had taught him that those creatures, they weren't like vampires. Yes, they too dealt death, but they could not sustain body animatronics. They could not 'bring people back from the dead'. They, the vampire, were a superior race and still the witches and wizards stole them. Ravaged them. Robbed them of their numbers. Indeed, years of experience later taught him otherwise, but at the time, Eric had only been a 'baby' vampire. He was receptive to every detail his Maker told him. And he believed it all.

So his image of the wizarding community had been greatly warped. He didn't know both sides. He imagined he knew why Bill was not so affronted by Hermione's so-called 'smell'. He was an accepting simpleton at times, but Eric had to admit – although not to Bill directly – that perhaps being accepting was not always a bad thing.

However, he was not soft. He knew he had nothing to apologise for. These people he was planning to capture – be it allied or against – he had every reason to be suspicious of. Hermione probably did not understand the importance of Eric's position as Sheriff. At least, not yet, for she was in no danger. Once she saw the real casualties in this war she would know.

He then decided he had better knock on her door. Not to crawl back to her, although not to enforce authority either. It was simply to call a truce to work for both their advantages. He had an idea that was very plausible.

He rapped on her door thrice.

"Go away."

In this, he was reminded that she was a mere child.

"I have a proposition that might interest you. It concerns your magical friends."

And with the right leverage, anything was possible.

Hermione cracked the door open a minute fraction. "Well, what is it?"

Were her eyes bloodshot or was it just the dim lighting?

"Promise to help me and I promise to keep them here with you, rather than in the Fangtasia basement prison."

It was a very blunt statement, but she was listening. He could almost see the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and her ears perk up.

"So what I hypothesised was true," she said softly. "You _would_ have locked them up."

"You'd thank me later if these _weren't_ your comrades," Eric answered snappily, although he was not angry at her.

They were quiet for awhile. Eric soon thought that he had better left her alone now – it was three in the morning and she probably was not used to staying up this late.

She surprised him though when she suddenly spoke. "I too have a proposition," Hermione whispered. "It's dangerous, life-threatening, against the laws of physics and really dodgy, but it's the best that I've got. We need to take a closer look at a body before we come to any more conclusions. What I said tonight definitely shocked everyone and I realise I can't explain anything unless I find some evidence."

"What is this plan of yours?"

Hermione disappeared into her room for a minute and came back with a little tumbler of bubbling sludge. It was an insalubrious colour – deep mud brown – and it looked thick as wet cement. It smelt awful too.

Eric guardedly took a step back. "What on earth is that?"

"It's called Polyjuice Potion," Hermione explained, her eyes suddenly glittering with excitement. "I mixed this a month ago when I was practising my Potion-making skills. If done right, you can keep it for up to six months under the right conditions."

"Well, what does it do?" Eric asked cautiously, his eyes still fixated on the little cup in Hermione's hand.

"I'm getting to that. It allows me to transform into anyone I want. To take their likeness."

Instantly, Eric's eyes were on hers. She carefully sucked in a long breath at his sudden interest.

"W-well, only for an hour," she stumbled. "That's how long a non-lethal intake of the potion can give me – one hour. And I need hairs from whoever I'm changing into. I say hairs because it's the easiest DNA strand to be extracted from a human."

She inhaled deeply before continuing. "I was thinking of morphing myself into the Shreveport coroner. What better way to view a dead body than to get to the very heart of authority."

Already she could see the cogs reanimate in Eric's head. He was greatly considering this.

"I can have my people locate the coroner for you," Eric nodded. "We're quicker and silent. We'll be able to get it with ease. I do have to ask, you plan on going into the morgue alone? What happens if you need some help?"

"Well, you and Bill can't go with me, I plan to go during the day when it's less suspicious for a coroner to hang around," Hermione shrugged. "I suppose Sookie-"

"What about turning into the night-time coroner?" Eric suggested. "People die at night too."

"I actually didn't think of that!" Hermione exclaimed, shaking her head. "That works too..."

"You would still have access to all the bodies that are still in the morgue," Eric supposed. "And all their records."

It was plain weird, not coming up with all of this during the actual meeting they had and instead talking over it outside Hermione's bedroom later on. It wasn't at all as counterproductive as Eric had predicted, though.

"We'll need the actual coroner out of the way when I go in. Knock him unconscious or something," Hermione reminded. "Just...don't kill him, okay?"

She glanced warily at Eric.

"Wouldn't it be easier if _I_ went in instead?" Eric quickly implored, clearly avoiding Hermione's request. He didn't want to make promises he could not keep.

"I know the potion only works for human to human transformations. Seeing as you're already dead, though, I'm not sure if that will pose a problem. We want to get to the bottom of this promptly so I don't want to risk it. I've had friends try the Polyjuice Potion I've made, and it...has worked."

Hermione decided to leave out the fact that _she_ herself had turned into half-cat.

"If you say so," Eric murmured. "I'll be your guard on the night itself."

"You can't come into the building with me," Hermione stated matter-of-factly.

"I'll wait in the car," Eric shrugged. "Just scream if you need anything."

That almost sounded like a joke. Hermione smiled slightly but faltered again.

"What of Bill and Sookie?" She didn't want them involved if she could help it, especially not Sookie.

"I'll have a talk with Bill," Eric offered. "I know where your concerns lie, so we'll just make sure Sookie is out of harm's way. Even though I know she'd try to help you out anyway. She is indoctrinated with the belief that _you_ need more protecting than she does. Just because she has a vampire for a boyfriend."

He gave a bit of a mirthless chuckle. Hermione sighed a little indignantly, but resignedly at that fact. Sookie played such a mother hen sometimes. She found a smile break her stoic expression once again, though.

"I almost can't believe we kind of have a plan," she remarked.

Eric laughed. "Neither can I."

_That was easier than I thought,_ he smiled to himself.

"I'll try to get you what you need within the next forty-eight hours," he said after awhile.

"That'd be fine, thanks..."

She seemed like she wanted to say something. She was wavering on the precipice of speech, and yet nothing seemed to want to come out. It was all stuck halfway. Eric and Hermione simply stood there, staring at each other for the longest time, fighting with words they were unsure of. Finally, though, they gave up and lost the battle. For now. Eric turned to leave abruptly just as Hermione slammed the door shut without saying goodnight. Good day.

* * *

**A/N: **This might be full of mistakes because it's unbeta-ed haha, but I'll fix it up as I reread it some other time. Enjoy :)

**That being said, I'm going on a bit of a writing hiatus as of now.** I haven't actually been writing at all lately, and I don't want people thinking I'm going to be updating weekly at this point when it's obvious I'm having a lot of trouble. I don't want to force myself to write a chapter because then I would never be pleased with it. I'm very sorry about this development, but hopefully this break won't last very long. I'll try to be back as soon as I can. All you readers and reviewers have been absolutely wonderful and all your support is very much appreciated!


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

There was some sort of hullabaloo downstairs. Sort of, because it wasn't at all too loud. If she hadn't left her door open that little creak, she wouldn't have heard it. Hermione turned over in bed, not in a particularly pleasant mood at being awakened at – she took a quick look at the watch on her nightstand – four twenty-three in the morning. Damned vampires and their abnormal sleeping habits.

She was giddy with exhaustion and had to grope around a bit before she found the lamp. Incandescent light burst forth from the bulb and briefly blinded her while she clumsily stood up and trudged around, finding her robe. Her head throbbed badly and her hair was a terrible mess.

The noises were getting louder. Some sort of thumping against the floor. Faint moaning.

_Oh, for Christ's sake,_ Hermione thought as she ineptly pinned her hair. She had a slight impression what that kind of clamour could entail and it was not something she wanted to be a spectator to. Couldn't they make it to the bedroom before-

Hermione shook her head. That was a tad graphic, thank you very much. She didn't think like that willingly – never had and probably never will. She did not do well in relationships at all, let alone finding the courage in herself to put out for anybody. After Krum, there was that walking hard-on McLaggen who she despised anyway... then Ron. Very limited experience with men, that much was obvious.

Someone was struggling downstairs, Hermione noticed from the staircase landing, but she was barely putting up a fight against _someone's_ monster grip on her. Okay, so it wasn't sex she had to witness, but was that any sort of a consolation? She didn't want to be a bystander to a murder either. As Hermione descended the stairs, she realised the man holding the girl captive was a stocky Asian man dressed entirely in black, his expression aloof. Eric was standing by. The woman between them was an overweight Caucasian lady dressed in a pristine white overcoat. She looked like she could have been the typical Southern belle, only now she had befriended the deadly drink – she had a beer belly. Her hair was frazzled and her thick makeup smeared in an unsightly manner. What were they doing with her?

Eric noticed Hermione at the top of the stairs first, and shot her a knowing gaze.

"I hope I did not wake you," he said softly. "I'm not usually this noisy, but this human wasn't being very cooperative."

"Who is she?" Hermione had to know. "A very late dinner or an early breakfast?"

"She's your coroner."

Hermione was more alert straight away. She glanced back towards the lady, who was so drained of energy that she had her eyes closed as though she had passed out.

"Well, you... work fast," Hermione observed a little dumbly.

Eric grinned. "I had a little bit of help with this. Hermione, this is Chow. Chow, Hermione."

The stout Asian gave her a little bit of a leer, which was terribly disturbing. This_ is the kind of company he keeps,_ Hermione thought.

"You're sure this is the nightshift coroner?" Hermione asked as she warily turned back to face Eric, desperate to ignore Chow.

"Positive, she said so herself after a little bit of _persuasion_," Eric answered. When Hermione looked at him questioningly, he smiled again. "Glamour."

Bill had taken some time to explain the so-called art of glamouring humans to Hermione two nights ago – the night after Hermione's and Eric's little arrangement – so she was slightly aware of it. He hadn't told her out of the blue either; Hermione had asked. Secretly, she was still doing some Ministry work, discovering little facts about vampires here and there, although her heart was no longer really in it. Did she really want to help the establishment that, according to the vampires, wanted to start unnecessary feuds? She had grown so unsure of her loyalties ever since finding out vampires weren't all _that_ bad. Again according to Bill, only young vampires drain bodies. Those who have lived for decades and centuries know their bodies and can live off a mouthful or two of blood every couple of days. Others, like himself, settled for synthetic blood.

That was one of the good habits she had found out about vampires, at least. Hermione's eyebrows knitted together in clear aversion but she made no comment on the use of glamour. If it garnered them information, she supposed, and if the woman was left unharmed, there was no reason she should be angry. Still, she didn't approve of it.

"What else did you _glamour_ out of her?" she questioned, all the while trying to mask her repugnance.

Eric pulled out a small slip of paper and handed it to Hermione. On it were directions around the morgue, so she would not get lost whilst inside. There was also the name by which she would be addressed – Cindy Robin.

"I suppose you thought of everything," she nodded, peering up at him over the piece of paper. "And I guess tomorrow night's when we'll be setting off."

"The quicker, the better, as you've said. I've spoken to Bill," Eric replied. "He's planned a night out with Sookie for tomorrow, so we should have free reign. I did not tell him explicitly of our arrangements, of course."

"That's fine. Is, uh, _he_ coming?" Hermione gestured to Chow, who was still looking somewhat lecherously at her.

"Chow, she' is not a meal," Eric barked. "And no, Hermione, he isn't. He's just here to make sure the real Cindy doesn't break out and try to make a run for it. I assure you, on my command, he won't endanger her either."

Hermione wasn't entirely convinced, Eric was certain, but she nodded stiffly before enquiring as to where the actual coroner would be lodged.

"Fangtasia," was his simple reply.

"That...prison you have under there?" Hermione gulped.

"Yes."

There was no hesitation in his answer. Eric had the uncanny ability to turn Hermione's head in this way – one minute he could be caring and in a flash, he could become cold-blooded with a severe lack of compassion. However, all the more he interested her, which was in itself a morbid thought. She was so disillusioned with the living that fraternising with the dead was such a pleasant option to chew over.

"Chow," Eric broke the silence. "Get Miss Robin to the bar. Put her with the rest."

"Wait," Hermione protested. _The rest?_ "Um, uh. T-the hairs. You've got them?"

She was just looking for an excuse for the poor girl to stay.

"They're here," Eric replied softly, holding up a little mint container.

"Pulled by the roots?"

"Of course."

Hermione's heart sank. She did not mean to make it so marked, but her shoulders dropped too. She was simply worried for the woman.

To her surprise, Eric took a step towards her and put a hand on her shoulder. His fingers brushed her exposed collarbone and she gritted her teeth at the sheer iciness of his touch. It was only because she was never expecting an animated human body to be anything but warm. His fingertips were smooth, though, and the feeling was strangely nice.

"She'll be fine," he whispered. This was his kind-hearted side peeking through a hard exterior. "Trust me."

He carefully tucked the mint tin in Hermione's small hands and wrapped deft fingers over her closed fist afterwards. It was a bizarre, _intimate_ gesture. In that moment, she knew she believed him. The only thing that bothered her was that she did not know why she did.

* * *

The following night was fresh and especially breezy. It felt like a good night in general, let alone one to carry out such a strenuous mission, in Hermione's opinion. She always felt much better if she could breathe with ease. The dampness of Deep South summers still did not sit well with her at all. She could hardly run without feeling clammy and smothered. And that night depended on speed the most.

"Remember, don't dawdle," Eric advised from the driver's seat of his Cadillac. "Get what you came for, and get out quickly."

Hermione suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She was in the backseat, stirring the bubbling Polyjuice Potion in its little cauldron lit with her specialty – portable blue flame. She was careful too. If she got glugging potion all over Eric's leather upholstery, she would never hear the end of it.

"Yes, Dad," she sighed in exasperation. "You've told me that about fifty times."

"Hermione, I'm serious!" Eric admonished with a sense of panic and she was taken aback. He rarely acted out of control. In fact, Hermione had only ever seen him keep his cool.

"Okay, okay," she resigned. "Sorry."

"I just feel something in this night air," Eric responded after a few quick inhales to calm down. "Something is moving out there and it makes me worry if only a pinch. You sure you have everything you need?"

"Yes, my wand and that little sheet of directions. All that's left for me to do is to change and then the transformation can take place," Hermione replied, grabbing the female coroner's clothes from a paper bag on the floor of the car. In a short-lived moment of childish insecurity, she added, "Don't look at me."

"You could have just changed back at the house," Eric pointed out, respecting her privacy a little and acquiescing. Only a little though. There was always the rear-view mirror after all.

"_Sure_, I could have, if this woman wasn't about three sizes bigger than I am," Hermione scoffed, hastily tugging her shirt off and unhooking the back of her bra. "As if I was going to walk around in _her_ undies if I could help it. They're too big for me."

She changed quickly, and even attempted to crouch low behind the passenger seat despite the lack of room. She knew that once she took the potion, the drooping shirt and too-big skirt would fit her like a glove, but for now, she had to deal with the loose panties and D-cup bra.

Eric then watched with a mild interest and slight disgust as Hermione emptied the contents of it into cup. The potion gurgled and frothed violent for awhile, before its mud brown colour settled and changed into an equally unpleasant avocado green.

"Looks _tasty_," Eric remarked sordidly.

"Enough with the condescension please," Hermione shot back shortly. "You're not the one having to drink this."

"_Your_ idea."

"And who brought me here to begin with?"

As if scrunching her face up would take away any bad flavour from the potion, Hermione shut her eyes and took a large gulp. There it was, that unforgettable stomach-turning taste of overcooked cabbage and bad milk. Hermione forced herself to guzzle the rest of the potion and almost instantly felt like throwing it all back up again when she was done, but she managed to keep it down. She took a look at her skin and instantly saw it changing. Its original milky iridescence was turning into a dark tan and her flesh was stretching out. Slowly, the new outfit she had adorned no longer draped shapelessly over her form. They began to tighten around curves she'd not previously had. She reached up to touch her hair, finding her curls had straightened out. Her vision also became steadily worse – apparently the coroner was afflicted with short-sightedness.

"Pass me those glasses, will you? I can barely see."

"Impossible," Eric breathed in a low tone. Even Hermione's voice was altered. It had gotten considerably higher pitched and her accent was lined with a Southern twang.

Checking her appearance in the rear-view mirror, Hermione was pleased. She was now the blonde Cindy Robin, night-time coroner. She stuck her wand into her skirt pocket and grabbed the instruction sheet.

"Okay, I'm going in now," Hermione mumbled, fiddling with her new spectacles. "I have exactly an hour, remember. I should be out in the next half though, if all goes well. If I'm not back by nine forty-five, come in for me."

Eric was still staring at her incredulously and speechlessly even as she left the car. He only managed a nod.

It was easy getting inside. The security guard was in his guardhouse, seemingly watching the local football game on his tiny television. He briefly waved at Hermione and gave her a nod – he recognised her as a regular employee so she could go in without a fuss. She trotted into the building, discreetly checking her little info sheet again before heading towards a long deserted corridor. It was no joke either; Hermione had a protracted walk before she found what she was looking for.

At last, there it was. The room designated 'Records'. It was lit with cold fluorescent lights that flickered annoyingly and uncomfortably.

Hermione let herself in with a swipe of Cindy's key card and quickly checked her watch. Great, twenty minutes wasted trying to find the bloody room. She headed straight to the computers, since searching through the cupboards and file drawers were bound to give her nothing to substance. She logged on within seconds and was browsing through recent entries. Eric had said his dead employee's name was Ginger, but what was her last name? Hermione started gnawing on her bottom lip as she tapped the mouse buttons anxiously.

Found it! She breathed a sigh of relief. Well, this was the only woman whose name was Ginger who had passed away within the past week, so it fit the time frame. Hermione immediately found which drawer her file was stored and started flipping through the records frantically. She retrieved Ginger's manila folder and thumbed through the report. The autopsy results caused her blood to run cold, though. Ginger's cause of death was collapse of the lungs. If that in itself was an unusual way for a young, otherwise healthy twenty-seven-year-old to go, the day coroner's notes on the body revealed even stranger circumstances. The inner walls of Ginger's lungs appeared to sustain third-degree burns. Other than that, the body had been untouched, aside from some sexual activity that had the characteristics of textbook rape. Hermione had no idea of the Bon Temps murders, but Ginger had been raped twice – once while alive and once after she had her lungs burnt out.

"That is just plain sick," she murmured to herself, looking through autopsy photographs very carefully. She didn't notice time slip away from her. The next time she checked her watch, she only had ten minutes left.

"Shit," she grumbled, quickly flipping to the end of the file to make sure she had read through every last detail. Where was Eric though? She had told him to fetch her after the half-hour mark. Something was clearly keeping him...

The door slammed open behind Hermione, causing her to jump and Ginger's folder to fly out of her hands.

"Whoa, Cindy!" a young man laughed. "A little on edge tonight, dontcha think?"

Hermione spun around and faced him, and was staggered by how close he had really been to her. She hadn't realised just how small the room was before that moment. The man looked no older than thirty, and he was well-built. He was about Bill's height, she estimated, and he was smiling at her rather oddly. It looked forced and unnatural.

_Crap,_ Hermione thought. _If only I had his name-_

"Um..." she croaked.

"Whatcha you doin' in here anyway? You're not on shift tonight."

_Fuck._

"I, uh..." _Think of something, Hermione, think quickly! _Her mind begged.

"You seem a bit different tonight, love," this man leered, reaching up to touch Hermione's hair. She intercepted him though, pushing his hand away.

"You mind backing up a bit?" she asked rudely. That was the only way she could conceivably get out of this sticky situation.

"You're not usually like this, Cindy," the man laughed. "You're easier than that."

He made another move, this time holding both her (well, Cindy's) porky hands down roughly. His fingers trailed from the top of her head down her cheeks, drawing lines further on her neck towards the top buttons of her blouse.

_Wretched motherfucker,_ Hermione thought, her blood beginning to boil.

"Get your hands off me." Her voice had betrayed her, goddamn it. It was quivery. At least her stare never broke his, and it was only then that Hermione noticed something was very wrong.

Now she had seen the Imperius Curse at work on several people. These victims seemed perfectly normal off the bat, with no visual signs as to whether they were being controlled or not. The man before her exhibited similar symptoms and yet he was different. His eyes were glazed over with a red tinge, unlike normally Imperiused individuals. It was obvious he was being controlled by something unconventional.

_Eric, where are you?_ Hermione found herself pleading internally. She was struggling with all her might to free her hands. He was trying to pin all her limbs back against the file cabinets. Hermione finally managed to liberate herself and extract her wand from her coat.

"_Stupefy_!" she yelled, red jets of light flying from the wand tip right at him. The man shot off backwards and landed with a crash against several metal crates in a corner of the room.

Already Hermione could feel her hands shrinking. The Polyjuice Potion was wearing off. She felt her hair frizz and her skirt literally fall off. Thankfully, Cindy's shirt was big enough for Hermione to wear as a dress, if not she would have been seriously exposed in more ways than one. She seized her opportunity to escape while her attacker was still unconscious.

In her fluster, she could not find her way out. The white hallway seemed to extend farther than what it had seemed to her less frenzied state of mind earlier. She heard footsteps dash after her and saw the man was hot on her heels all of a sudden, looking far more hysterical than he had previously.

_How the hell did he recover so quickly?_ Hermione panicked.

"Get the fuck back here, _witch_!" he bellowed.

Hermione put a little more speed in her legs, although it was no use. The man had longer strides in his run and caught up with her quickly, grabbing her by the leg and pulling her down with abnormal force. The motion caused her to fall over on the floor face down and knocked her wand several feet out of her grip. The impact was hard on the shiny white linoleum and Hermione could almost felt her ribs crack, her jaw dislocating as it hit the floor. The man had somehow come to bear a Swiss army knife and stabbed her right in the ankle. He dragged the knife upwards, slicing a deep gash in Hermione's calf, tearing at her muscle to her bone. She screamed at the top of her lungs as tears spilled like beads from her eyes. She couldn't even bear to look at her wound.

The man did not stop. He viciously extracted the knife and there was pure fury in his eyes as he made to stab her again – this time in the hip. Hermione only rolled out in the nick of time. However, he still managed to knick her in the side. She yelped, only her voice had gotten a lot weaker due to the blood loss and all her crying. She defensively wrapped her head in her arms, where he stabbed her a third time whilst aiming for her jugular.

Hermione instinctively knew she was going to die, despite her efforts to cling on. And then suddenly, the man was pulled away from her by a savage, roaring behemoth of some kind. Well, she supposed it was until she uncovered her face and noticed it was Eric. His blond mane was utterly dishevelled and he had lifted her attacker clean off the ground and ripped him plainly _in half_ – bone and all. If Hermione had any energy left in her, she would have cried out again, but she could feel life slipping out of her.

She was starting to fade in and out of clarity and consciousness. She saw Eric stoop next to her and lift her upper body, cradling her gently in his arms. He was covered in her attacker's blood and his fangs were out. She tried to speak, but he shushed her instead. Eric did a once over on her, although that was all he had time for when sirens started wailing outside the coroner's.

In a flash, Eric had Hermione in his arms and outside through a back way she would have taken hours to find. He moved with such speed and silence that it terrified her. Once outside, he breezed past tree after tree, going a good few miles away from the building as far as Hermione could tell. When, per Eric's judgement, they were safe, he carefully laid her down again, tending to her as he had before.

"E-Eric," she gasped when she saw him brandish his fangs. Eric brought his own wrist to his mouth, tearing skin and flesh off and shoving the pouring wound at Hermione.

"Drink," he lightly commanded.

"B-but-"

"Do as I say," he urged gently still. "You're dying."

_No shit, Sherlock,_ Hermione thought. She cringed as much as her energy levels allowed her to and pressed her lips against his skin, gulping down his blood.

Hermione would later go on to describe her first experience drinking vampire blood as a parallel to her first time consuming alcohol. It burned her insides at first – for such a cold being, Eric's blood was the total opposite – and yet in the end, she found herself enjoying the drink as though it was her favourite beverage. It started to taste sweet and aromatic, while the thickness was just right. Eric had to bring his wrist back to his own mouth several times to reopen the wound for her to drink from, for he healed extremely quickly. After about five or six mouthfuls, he determined she had had enough.

"I shouldn't have let you go in there alone," he whispered in the darkness. Hermione could only just decipher his expression – he looked _pained_.

"It-it wasn't your fault I got attacked," Hermione tried to reassure him. "You just saved my life, Eric."

"I still let you go in there, even though I knew in my gut something was out in the shadows," Eric softly argued, bringing her closer almost mechanically. His arms were sturdy around her, and immediately she felt even safer. Any preconceived notions she might have had about him doing such a thing as hug her went out the window and Hermione closed her eyes wearily but contentedly.

"No use beating yourself up over it now," she sighed, tiredness slowly creeping up on her. "But I say again, Eric Northman. You saved my life. And for that I can never blame you. Thank you."

She peered into the solid blue orbs of his eyes and reached up to brush his tousled blond locks away from his face. He no longer looked so agonised, although his mind was far from easy. He glanced down at her and smiled ever so slightly before gazing up above the trees at the night sky, lost in thought.

* * *

**A/N:** Hello everyone! It's been awhile, but here is a new chapter to "Deadly In Every Way". Do note that this **doesn't** end the writing hiatus. I'm not stopping writing entirely, just doing it incredibly slowly nowadays. But at least I'm back with an update for now. Please leave some feedback telling me what you think! Thank you.


End file.
